


The Moment Arrives (series #2):  collection #4

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 37,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: More short stories as the saga continues unabated.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 164
Kudos: 54





	1. The Doll

**Author's Note:**

> Story Listings:  
> 1\. The Doll  
> 2\. There is Treasure Everywhere! (5 parts)  
> 3\. It's A Puzzle  
> 4\. Where Have All The Good Men Gone? (4 parts)  
> 5\. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise (6 parts)  
> 6\. I Can't Help... (2 parts)  
> 7\. Professional Help (2 parts)  
> 8\. Picture Perfect (Valentine's 2021) (6 parts)  
> ... WiP...

“Oh... my... GOD!” rings out into the early morning silence.

Fidel and Dwayne swing around from the coffee pot with alarm, eyes darting about looking for the source of such vehemence. Richard Poole only puts down his mug and raises his eyebrows. Now everyone is looking at Camille as she sits rigid at the breakroom table, the local newspaper clutched in her hands like a life-line. After a few moments of checking for attacking malefactors, Dwayne takes a calming breath and quavers, “What is it, Camille? You gave us quite a scare there.”

She frantically gestures him over then looks up to include Fidel. As the men hurry over, she twists to look at Richard, “Did you see this too?”

He just looks back, “I read everything, Camille, you know that. What has upset you so dreadfully?”

She slaps the paper down so Dwayne and Fidel can see a tiny image of a young beautiful woman with long dark hair. She looks up at them, “Do you know what this is?”

Dwayne grins, “Looks like someone I’d like to know a lot better. Why?”

“Because THIS,” her finger stabs down onto the image, “THIS is a doll!”

Dwayne’s grin widens, “She certainly is! Who is she? Someone famous?”

Camille darts a glance to Richard who nods back. Yes, he saw it, so what? She takes a deep breath and wonders if she really wants to tell them what she’s thinking… but it’s so upsetting! _Maybe I’m wrong? Maybe I’m reading too much into it? But what if I’m not?_ She turns to Richard once more, “Correct me if I’m wrong but we’re making huge strides in AI, aren’t we?”

Richard nods back, “Yes, indeed.”

“AND robotics?”

“Again, yes. Why do you ask?”

She turns back to Dwayne, “Because THIS is one of six SEX dolls made to cater to everyone’s choice of beauty with different ethnicity, eye colour, hair colour. Their silicone bodies are designed to give a realistic look and feel.” She looks up, “What do you think of that?”

The officers are silent, waiting for the punchline. She looks to Richard. His eyes are down and he won’t look at her. She can tell his mind is already forging on ahead, seeing the ramifications.

Fidel makes an attempt, “Well, it’s no different than those blow-up dolls that we used to laugh about when we were kids, right? Who in their right mind would make do with plastic? It’s just not…”

“Mmm-hmm, it says here that this sex-doll BROTHEL is a new way to achieve sexual needs without the many restrictions and limitations that a real partner may come with.” She looks back up and snorts, “…restrictions… limitations… a real partner MAY come with…”

Fidel hasn’t given up, “But…”

“Fidel! These aren’t dolls! They call them dolls but LOOK at it!” She holds the paper up to his startled face, his eyes drawn to the beautiful ‘woman’ in the picture. “Does that look like a plastic blow-up toy to YOU? Hmm?! She looks real, doesn’t she?” He has to nod, takes the paper and sinks down into the nearest chair to begin reading.

In the meantime, Camille has turned back to Richard who is looking at her with a sorrowful gaze. “Didn’t you stop to wonder if a doll is ALL it is? This looks like a robot. A programmable robot! That means it will talk and react to stimuli.”

Dwayne says uneasily, “Stimuli? You mean…?”

She gives him a frosty look, “Oh, yes, I mean! What man would want to settle for a flesh and blood ‘partner’ that comes with all sorts of restrictions and limitations when there’s an absolute sex slave who will do and say anything you want? It’s every man’s DREAM!”

Richard scoffs, “Oh, Camille, surely not! Not EVERY man…” She gives him a withering glare but he forges on, “… not every man…” She graces him with a small smile just as Fidel rockets out of his chair with a crash. Everyone whirls to look at him now.

“Oh… my… GOD!” he growls, “The only existing law that might have anything to do with these dolls is a height requirement.” His outraged eyes burn as he whispers, “It can’t resemble a child.”

Dwayne is first to break the resultant silence, “Wait a minute! If these dolls are in the paper NOW, it means they’ve been in production and testin’ for years now.” He looks to Richard, “Right, Chief?”

The Chief nods, starting to look worried, “Right, right, robotics and AI have made great strides recently. Unscrupulous persons may have decided to create a market for something ELSE we don’t need.”

Dwayne tries to see the bright side, “Well, if dolls take over the sex trade, won’t that mean women and children won’t be bought and sold anymore? Less misery for them, less crime for us!”

“You’ve got a point, Dwayne,” Richard agrees, turning to Camille, “And you never can tell, perhaps the populace will revolt and burn the brothel to the ground! What god-forsaken country is allowing this?”

Camille meets his eyes straight on, “Canada.”

Richard nods then freezes then shakes his head as if a bug has flown into his ear, “What did you say?”

“Canada. Toronto, Canada.”

Dwayne laughs, “No, no, no, no, that’s gotta be a typo! Canadians are too polite to allow it!”

Richard has found his voice, “If they even know about it, you mean! Golly, there’s going to be SOME demonstrations when they find out! Imagine the petitions!” Everyone gives him a look. He scoffs, “You don’t know Canadians! They can petition you to death! AND all the snide looks! Oh, they’re vicious when their blood is up, I assure you!”

Dwayne turns away, “Mmm-hmm. Well, I say it’s a long shot that sex dolls will catch on. Maybe in the big cities with lots of international travel where men can be anonymous…”

“Not just men, Dwayne. It says male dolls are going on-line very soon,” Fidel snorts.

Camille’s head comes up, “Male dolls? Really?” She turns to give Richard a calculating look. His eyes flare faintly in alarm. He senses trouble but not where, why, or how. He sets his jaw and waits for it. She nods, “I seem to remember reading about 3D printers not too long ago, right?”

“Right,” Fidel says, “all that worry about 3D guns! I DO remember that. What’s that got to do with…?”

Camille drawls, “Uh-huh, and if a gun, why not a face?” She is looking right at Richard and sees him blanch to his hairline. She leans forward, “Just imagine! Once these dolls are up and running and the science improves, what’s to stop an unscrupulous business from offering made-to-order dolls? It could be a famous movie star, a sports hero, the man down the street, or…”

Now there is complete silence as various imaginations veer off in various directions - and no one likes the destination much. Richard just has to speak up, “Well, that would be chaos! Complete and utter chaos! If everyone is busy shagging everyone else, who will keep the lights on and the trains running on time? It’s inconceivable!”

She nods, “Yes, inconceivable. What will it do to the birth rate, I wonder?”

The men look at her then each other. _Oh, god, NOW what is she thinking?_

“Yes,” she nods, “this could be the beginning of the end. In ten years, we could be in decline and addicted to robot sex. No more marriage, no more children, no more anything, the collapse of human civilization as we know it.”

“Well,” chuffs Richard, “it’s collapsed before but we always build it up again. History repeats itself. That’s why I find History so absorbing. We keep making the same mistakes over and over again. We’re quite stupid as a species, brilliant but stupid.” He leans back and sighs.

“Mmm,” Camille folds the paper and lays it on the stack of newsprint to go out to recycling, “So much for current events, OK? I’m depressed now. I could use a drink. Anyone want to join me?”

The men all stand and come to her and Richard pulls out her chair for her to rise, “It’s a bit early for lunch but I think we deserve some quiet time. If our world is coming to an end, I’d like to meet it with a hot cup of tea in my hand. After you.” He gestures for everyone to precede him.

“You know,” she murmurs to Richard as they descend the steps, “there’s a doll I’D like to order if the real deal doesn’t get his derriere in gear and make me an offer REAL soon.” She gives him a bland look.

“Oh?” he replies back just as blandly, “Got your eye on some hapless male, do you? Poor soul.”

She gives him a sideways glance only to see he is returning it and decides to push him a little, “Mmm, I fancy him rotten but he’s leading me a merry chase and I’m getting a bit tired. I don’t know if I can keep up this frantic pace for much longer. My biological clock is clanging and I’m not sure I can wait him out.”

“Hmm, he sounds a bit of a dolt, if you ask me. Perhaps he’s simple? Maybe he needs a more direct approach using small words? Are you certain you’ve made yourself absolutely clear?” His hand brushes lightly against hers as they walk along, just comrade-in-arms, for the moment.

She smiles, “You might be right, you smarty-pants, you.” She slips an arm through his and is gratified when he accepts it with a small smile of his own, “Well, how about it? You and me? Before the world goes to hell in a hand basket and we’re all extinct? What do you think?”

He smiles, “My dear, I sincerely think we’ll not go extinct as long as women like you exist.”

She relaxes in relief, answering his spoken words as well as his unspoken avowal with subtle preening pleasure, “How polite. Are you sure you’re not Canadian?”

He huffs a small laugh, “I’m sure. We’ve got the stiff upper lip and they’ve got the politeness.”

“Same coin, different sides.” Now they stroll in lock-step, feeling the synchronicity and thrilling to it.

“Perhaps,” he continues, “but as to your earlier rather impertinent question, yes, I think it’s time we got on with our lives. What can it hurt? You will either throttle me during a spat or I will run off until you cool down. Either way, we seem destined for one another. I only hope…”

La Kaz comes into view, “Yes?” she asks happily, feeling quite giddy for some reason.

He seats her, sits beside her, “I hope the world doesn’t end TOO soon.” He gives her a lidded look that stiffens her spine (and other things). “There’s just SO much I want to do before that unhappy day arrives.” He sees her surprise, leans in, whispers, “I have quite a bucket list. Don’t you?”

She gulps, “Oui, but my bucket only has one thing in it.” He quirks an eyebrow. Is he daring her? Foolish man. Never dare a French woman in love. “You,” she bats her eyelashes at him, smirking.

“Lucky me, then,” he smiles. “You know, I never liked being the centre of attention. Until now.” He sees her grin and nods to himself, “But I think I WILL relish it now, won’t I?”

She nods once more, “With relish and mustard and pickles and…”

He laughs out loud, drawing the attention of Catherine who suddenly sees something of interest at their table. He lifts his cup of tea to the woman and murmurs aside to Camille, “I can hardly wait.”

END


	2. There is Treasure Everywhere! - part 1 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another story I wrote on the beach last year. Love that beach combing.

**There is Treasure Everywhere!**

Part 1 of 5

The Bartschs are in seventh heaven. They are in a tropical paradise surrounded by unending beauty and peace and quiet. And beaches. Their hotel resort roundel is so wonderful that they can hardly tear themselves away; room service, coconut rum, ocean view right on the beach, air conditioning, karaoke every night. On the reverse, the island itself is so spectacular that they never want to go inside in case they miss the next moment of bliss. They’ve traveled a LOT but have never experienced anything quite like this! Heaven, definitely. Seventh heaven.

And, right now, unexpected glee, they have stumbled upon a pristine beach with not a single soul on it. They’d overheard a comment in the resort bar about the ‘safest place on the island’ and they’d driven right over… and it was so. Standing on the high-tide line, their sunblock perfuming the air all around, their wide-brimmed hats pulled low to block the sun, they hike up their collection totes and begin.

They walk down to the water at the west end, turn towards the morning sun, and lock-step in perfect unison. They are dedicated beach combers. And not just any run-of-the-mill beach combers, oh, no!

Nothing interests them except sea glass (worshipful sigh).

Always the sea glass!

They have combed beaches all over the world; Atlantic and Pacific, frigid polar seas, sultry equatorial seas, in both hemispheres. Now they are working their way through the Caribbean. They could have booked their travels with an exclusive travel agency that promises sea glass galore… but they prefer to stalk this most elusive treasure on their own. It gives them added bragging rights.

Sea glass. Always the sea glass.

They are so intent on their regimental grid search pattern that, almost an hour later, the sudden appearance of a pair of black brogues shocks them mightily! They both start and leap back. Their raised gazes discover a formally suited man who does not belong in this picture at all. Up above, a pellucid cerulean sky goes on forever without end. Fore and aft, golden sands without a single thing to mar its perfection. To one side, gently swaying palms brushed by gentle zephyrs. To the other side, a turquoise sea washes creamy foam endlessly with a rhythmic beat.

And here, smack-dab in the middle of this sun-drenched scene is a dark suit, a white shirt, a navy tie, and cool green eyes (the only colour the man seems to possess).

The man looks so authoritative that Mr. Bartsch automatically reaches for his identification but Mrs. Bartsch stills him with a touch. She’s seen the little house, no better than a cottage really, tucked up into the trees. Her eyes must be playing tricks because one of those trees seems to come out of the roof. Faint dints in the sand lead from the man’s black heels back to this house. Obviously their information was faulty; this beach is not deserted and they are trespassing.

“Excuse, English?” she asks, already knowing. No one else would dress like this in the tropics.

The stranger nods but seems to draw back upon himself when he hears her accent.

 _Ah,_ she thinks, _he is English to his core!_ She smiles and assures him, “Yes, we are Germans but not from Germany. We are from Canada.”

“Ah,” the man says but doesn’t relax one whit.

“I’m sorry if we are trespassing,” Mrs. Bartsch continues. “Is this a private beach? We saw no sign. We heard it was a safe place and deserted. We hoped to find undiscovered glass here.”

The man is shaking his head, “Not private, no, but tourists seldom find the road and the locals… well, the locals tend to leave me in solitary splendor.”

Mr. Bartsch hears something in the man’s voice, “Why? Aren’t you safe to be around?”

The man draws himself up to a not very impressive height as the Bartschs both top six feet but he seems to gather gravitas none the less, “I am the Chief of Police here on Saint-Marie. Welcome to the island. As for glass, you won’t find any. I sweep the beach almost daily. No one will cut themselves on MY watch.” He folds his arms and looks possessively across the sands, “I have my work cut out for me, let me tell you, especially after a storm… and don’t get me started on the hurricanes!”

The Bartschs stiffen to sudden attention. Mr. Bartsch licks his lips and falters, “Do you find much glass?” His wife’s hand is on his arm and they both wait for the man’s answer.

“Oh, yes, scads of it. It’s quite a job…”

Mrs. Bartsch interrupts, “Sharp or rounded?”

The man swivels his head to give her his undivided attention. Something in her tone has caught his notice, “Mostly sharp but some rounded.”

Now Mr. Bartsch jumps in, “Clear and fresh or oxidized to an antique frosty sheen?”

“Mostly clear but some are frosty, rather like a Bassetts Jelly Baby. Lovely colours, those.”

Now the couple take a step closer and they whisper together, “Colours? What colours, these rounded frosted ones? What colours have you seen?” Their tone is reverential.

Now the man is giving them the usual look they get all over the world from non-sea-glass acolytes, a look of suspicion and burgeoning concern about their sanity. They don’t care. They take another step closer and repeat, “Colours, what colours?”

“Well,” the man coughs, straightens his tie, “All colours, really. The usual modern-day browns, greens, clear and colourless, some blues… but I’ve also seen orange, pink, red, yellow…”

“Lavender? Violet? Lilac?” Mrs. Bartsch whispers.

“Have you… have you seen… deep purple?” Mr. Bartsch moans.

“Um, yes, once, a year ago, after a particularly nasty storm that lashed us for almost a week.”

Mrs. Bartsch turns to her husband, “It must have been dredged up from miles out to sea!”

Mr. Bartsch turns to her, “Yes, but from which century?”

They both whip back to the man, “Can you show us?”

The man flaps his hands at his sides, “Well, I…”

Their shocked looks make the man flinch. “You didn’t throw it AWAY??” they wail in crushing loss.

The man looks stricken at their sorrow, “Well, it’s just glass after all, isn’t it?”

The couple fall upon each other’s shoulders and almost sob but the husband recovers first and tries to comfort his wife, “What was cast up once will be cast up again. We have to believe that and keep faith.” He turns back to the man, “I’m sorry if we seem a bit over-the-top, Mr. …?”

“Poole, sorry, I am Detective Inspector Richard Poole… and you are?”

The men shake hands, “We are Inge and Dieter Bartsch of the Southern Ontario Bartschs. We are sea glass hunters. It is our passion and the reason we travel the world. We have searched for the old colours endlessly using historical documents, old maps, hearsay, anything and everything that people can tell us.”

“And to think you’ve seen all these colours right here on this one beach,” exclaims Inge in hushed tones.

“So this glass is old?”

“Very. The frosted look takes years to develop once the glass hits air. The sea constantly whittles away at it until it disappears into the sand, just more motes on the beach. The only hope is to discover it right after a storm disturbs the deeps. That’s the best time to search for these lost remnants.”

“Why don’t you dive down and find it in on the sea bottom?”

Dieter draws himself up in haughty indignation, “Then it isn’t sea glass, is it? It’s just trash fit only for tourist museums and cultural studies. It only becomes treasure once it reaches air and oxidizes then rolls in the sand to become smooth and perfect.”

Poole thinks for a moment, comes to a decision, “Hmm, well then, would you like to see my garden?”

Inge looks to the house. Pure sand. No garden in sight. “Why? What’s in your garden?”

Poole holds out a hand to show them the way, “It’s where I keep all the really interesting items I find on the beach. My English garden has no living thing but it’s still very pretty.” He escorts the suddenly silent pair up to his house and around the back of a small addition with a stout wooden door. Objects flank the door on the ground; bits of fantastic driftwood, odd shells, strange flotsam and jetsam including a small skeleton with fearsome teeth and flippers. Upon spotting this, Poole shivers and says, “Don’t ask. I can’t talk about it. But see here?” He stoops and picks up a clear glass jar and holds it aloft. Slivers of colour kaleidoscope, sparkling frostily in the sun.

END – part 1


	3. There is Treasure Everywhere! - part 2 of 5

Part 2 of 5

The Bartschs jostle in on either side of Poole and reach trembling fingers out to touch the jar of rainbows. Here indeed are all the legendary colours they’ve been searching for. All but one.

Dieter looks to Poole, “The purple? Where is the purple?”

Poole smiles a trifle sheepishly, “I, um, I keep that one in the house, by the shower. I like to look through it every so often in the early morning light. It’s quite… er… magical.”

“More than you know,” Inge scoffs. _Maybe he’s not as English as he thinks_. “There are only three suspected examples of that colour, all closely guarded. Most collectors think it’s a myth.”

Poole shrugs, “Well, let me introduce you.” He unlocks the door and they crowd him all the way inside. “Please wait here,” he tells them, “My place is a mess. I’m just coming off a major case involving murder, arson, and dog-napping so I haven’t had time to tidy up.” He disappears through a spotless kitchen where a dish towel might be hanging one degree off true but, other than that, Inge sees no mess at all. They wait with bated breath until he returns. He holds out a fist and drops a large marble of richest deepest impossible royal purple into Dieter’s trembling palm.

The pair stumbles back outside to examine it in daylight. They take turns looking up at the sky through it. They see a mysterious realm, a midnight world full of dark magic and marvelous possibilities. They bow their heads.

After a moment, Inge asks, “Can we take a picture?” Poole nods. They lay a tiny tape measure in Dieter’s hand and proof positive is attained. They hand the treasure back most reluctantly, already feeling bereft.

Poole hesitates then says, “Other than this one specimen, would you like to take any of the others?”

“We can’t,” Dieter mumbles, “Rules of the profession. You have to find and log every specimen for yourself.” He shows Poole the little black book that records all their years of travel.

“Amazing,” Poole says with a wry grin, “Rather like twitchers, eh, wot?” At their blank look, he explains, “Birders, you know? Bird watchers? They keep records and try to out-do one another with their yearly counts and exotic sightings.” He shakes his head and muses, “Nutters to a man.” Then he coughs suddenly and glances away, “Um, present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” Inge laughs, “but I like to think we are much more disciplined if no less cut-throat. The competition among our ranks can be nasty at times. Thank you for your most generous offer but we must find the glass ourselves, as Dieter said.”

Now Poole bounces on his toes and looks up to the sky, “Um, would it help if I showed you precisely where I found each one?”

They give him another blank look. Dieter asks, “You keep a log? Of your beach sweepings?” Now they are giving HIM that look of wondering if he’s exactly safe to be around without other people to help them if he does anything crazy.

“No need, it’s all up here,” Poole taps his temple and somehow they believe him. He holds up a finger, “Just a moment while I change then I’ll show you,” and he is gone back into the little house. Inge and Dieter wait in the shade of the house-tree (yes, it really does come out the roof) as patiently as they can. The sun is at the optimum beach-combing angle right now and time is wasting!

Poole is back. Other than his lack of jacket and tie, they can’t tell the difference, although he assures them he is now wearing his beach shoes. They look at his feet. No change, unless he has identical pairs and…? They shrug to each other. _The English, what can you do?_

Poole now proceeds to lead them from spot to spot for over an hour. Much to their amazement they find three fine pieces to add to their collection. Sea glass tends to stay together and a little (or a lot) of sifting and digging in the vicinity of an earlier find often leads to good luck.

Straightening up, stretching out her back, Inge looks to their dark-clad guide where he watches from the nearest bit of shade. _Who needs good luck when you’ve got a walking talking map at your side? Our good luck was in meeting this fellow._ Bending once more, she helps her husband catalogue their latest find, “Olga will be furious! She’s searched fifteen years for saffron yellow and here we have it first!”

“Marc will turn green with envy when he sees the tangerine orange,” Dieter mutters happily.

“Yes, but this soft pink,” Inge coos, “I’ve never seen this one in the book. Maybe we’ll get a special mention in the next edition.”

“Next edition of what?” Poole asks from the shadows.

Inge frowns and puts a finger to her lips at Dieter’s look. _Careful, there’s cats-ears over there._

Together they turn to their guide and intone, “Our bible! ‘Sea Glass: a microcosm in the grains of sand on the beaches of time at all the ends of the Earth’ by the renowned C. L. Clarke, BA, BSc, with Doctorates in Nautical Archaeology, Oceanography and Coastal Sciences, Popular Culture, and Surf Science and Technology.” At Poole’s stunned look, Inge laughs, “Oh, yes, there’s an expert for whatever strange hobby people are interested in - and C. L. Clarke is ours! Long may she beach-comb!”

Poole coughs again, trying not to smile, “I see. Sounds interesting. Perhaps I’ll look for it. If you do get a mention, please keep my name out of it. I don’t have time to host sea glass parties.”

The couple nod gladly. Inge sighs, “This will be OUR little secret! Honestly, you’ve made our year!”

Dieter shakes Poole’s hand, “We can’t thank you enough, Inspector. Do we have your permission to return tomorrow? We’re here for another 2 days before our ship leaves.”

Poole smiles, “Richard, please! And yes, you may beach-comb to your heart’s delight. Just… just don’t encroach too closely upon my home, if you don’t mind. I’m rather a reclusive person and my job demands restful quiet between cases.”

The couple nod happily but Inge catches a low mumble from Richard, “Not that I ever get any! Honestly! Is this any way to run a police station?” Inge almost asks if there’s trouble in his life but then stifles herself. Other people’s personal problems are not her problem, as fascinating as they may be. Instead, she spots a fallen palm tree up in the tree line and points it out, “Let’s sit for a moment and catch our breath, all right?”

Dieter trudges over and drops onto the palm trunk with relief. They sit and watch the waves for a while before he says to Richard, “I wish I could trade you for the purple.” He picks at the iron hard root ball of the downed tree, “But the rules are very clear, value for value and never for money. I don’t suppose you collect anything, do you?” He lifts hopeful eyes.

Richard shakes his head, “No, sorry, Dieter. I read a lot but mostly I live to jug up criminals. I don’t really have any hobbies. No time. My partner will tell you I have no imagination and no friends…” but he stops as Dieter suddenly swoops down to stare at his scratchings on the root ball.

Dieter whispers, “Look at this,” as he takes a folding knife out of his pocket.

Richard sees something small, something shiny, something golden in the wood. Within moments, his own knife is out and the two men work to dig the object loose. Soon a small, worn, battered, rough-edged circle is glinting in Dieter’s hand. Seeing Richard’s face, Dieters asks, “Do you know what it is?”

A tiny magnifying glass appears as if by magic and Richard goes over the disc minutely before handing it back with a thoughtful silence.

“Well?” Inge prompts, “Is it real? Is it old? Is it…?”

Richard fixes his cool gaze upon her, “If it’s real then, yes, Inge, it is old. And it just might be…” He lapses into quiet thought once more.

“Might be what?” Inge prompts, sensing something momentous.

Richard jerks back to life with a deep sigh, “It might be direct proof of a beloved island myth about ‘The Dread Pirate Le Clerc’.” He looks at Dieter with speculation.

“What? What are you thinking?” Dieter asks.

“I’m thinking that you now have something I’d consider trading for the purple, Dieter. Are you game?”

End – part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, heck, this went from 4 chapters to 5 during the editing process. Sorry for any confusion, it's just me trying to make up my mind what I'm doing. I'm usually better organized than this. I blame the snow. S/P


	4. There is Treasure Everywhere! - part 3 of 5

Part 3 of 5

Dieter looks to the scrap in his hand and doesn’t even hesitate. He grasps Richard’s hand and they shake, “Oh, you bet! Deal!! After all, this isn’t real money, is it? Plus, it’s a completely different hobby and THOSE people are totally crazy! We certainly don’t want THEM digging up your beach, now do we? Besides, if we have the purple then we have the true treasure.”

Richard regards his new friends with amusement. _To each their own_. “In that case, let us retire back to my place for a celebratory cup of tea. I have sudden business in town now. Thank you for livening up an otherwise dull day.”

An hour later, the Bartschs depart back up the beach to their parked car. Promises have been made on both sides; they can beach-comb the beach anytime as long as they keep the location a secret, and he will stop cleaning up the sands when he knows they are coming. He has also taught them how to spot and lose anyone trying to follow them.

“Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t put it past Marc to send spies after us,” Dieter had laughed.

As soon as the Bartschs are out of sight, Poole hotfoots it to his Commissioner’s office in a taxi, breezes past the receptionist and interrupts the big man’s afternoon nap. He waits until his boss has taken a deep angry breath before plunking the coin down onto the desk with a deep quiet ‘thunk’.

Watching Selwyn Patterson switch mental gears is a sight to behold and a lesson in mental agility as he sweeps the coin up and studies it for a long time. Finally, he rumbles, “There’s no date.”

Poole nods, says coolly, “No, sir. Dates weren’t stamped until much later.”

The rumble gains volume, “Which dates it quite nicely.”

Poole nods again, “Yes, sir.”

The rumble softens, “The profile is King Philip II of Spain.”

Poole smirks. _Trust him to know the profile of King Philip II of Spain!_ “Yes, sir.”

Now the Commissioner raises gleaming eyes, “This coin may date from the time of Le Clerc?”

Poole is careful to school his face to bored indifference, “Oh, indeed, sir, if not earlier.” A long pregnant pause stretches out in the bright office and, for the first time ever, Poole waits him out.

Finally Patterson cannot contain himself any longer, “Well? Tell me, man! Where did you find it?”

“It was found today, here, on Saint-Marie. I submit it as evidence of robbery on the high seas, smuggling, and various other crimes of skullduggery and swash-buckling. It will make a wonderful addition to ‘The Le Clerc Exhibit’, yes?” Poole eases himself down with aplomb into the nearest seat.

Smiling fit to kill, Patterson surges out of his hydraulically enhanced chair and charges around the desk to catch Poole up in a completely unexpected bear hug. He actually swings the slighter man around in a full circle before setting him back down and gazing at the coin in perfect glee.

Poole smooths down his hair and his tie, catches his breath and intones, “You’re most welcome, sir.”

Patterson rushes to his door and orders his receptionist to get the Ministers of Tourism, Trade, Education, and The Interior into his office tout suite! “Oh, this will please everyone!” the big man chortles as he rubs his hands together. “We’ll send out a press release immediately.” He turns a keen eye onto his Chief of Police, “I don’t suppose you’ll divulge the exact location?”

Poole shakes his head, “No, I don’t want my name mentioned.”

“Of course, of course,” Patterson agrees as various curious Ministers begin to arrive.

Poole slips away as the excitement begins to ramp up. He walks to his station and spends a quiet afternoon doing paperwork and having an invigorating to-do with his team over the proper use of the Oxford Comma. Shortly before 6 pm, Fidel receives a curt phone call summoning his boss back to the Commissioner’s Office. The team checks his demeanor and are surprised to see calm assurance as Poole says to Fidel, “I am called to the Inner Sanctum, am I? Fidel, would you be so good as to drive me? Our budget doesn’t stretch to TWO taxi fares in one day. You can deliver these reports while we’re at it.”

“Gee, sir, I hope you’re not in any trouble,” Fidel frets as he pulls the Defender up in front of Government House.

Poole sighs happily, “No, I’m not in any trouble. In fact, I think I’ve finally gotten the ‘Get out of Jail’ card that I’ve always dreamed about.” They enter the building and Poole points down a different hallway, “You take these reports down to Records and I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave, alright?”

Poole is ushered with embarrassing speed into the Commissioner’s office once he arrives. Patterson beams up at him, his desk top swamped with mock-ups of posters and write-ups, photos, press releases and all good things for the prosperity of Saint-Marie, “Ah, Inspector, so good of you to come. I don’t suppose you bring any more treasure?”

“No, sir, sorry, just the Quarterly Reports. After all, I’ve been at the station most of the day and not…”

“…and not combing your beach, am I right?”

Poole’s lips snap shut and he gives his boss a narrow careful scrutiny.

END – part 3


	5. There is Treasure Everywhere! - part 4 of 5

Part 4 of 5

The Commissioner seems to enjoy this enormously and booms a laugh, “Relax, man! I’ve already spoken to the Bartschs and they understand the need for privacy. After all, none of us want your beach dug up, now do we?” Poole shakes his head. “One coin does not a treasure make, now does it?” Another head shake. “We estimate the likely value of a small chest of such gold coins at roughly one-half, perhaps one-tenth, the resultant increase in tourism and the service industry for this year alone! Imagine the boost it will provide in all the years to come! Everyone is most pleased, I can assure you.”

Poole huffs a relieved breath, “Well good, as long as my name isn’t mentioned.”

“Never fear, we mustn’t give the slightest hint else your beach and the station and perhaps large parts of the town itself will be besieged. People will follow you wherever you go, even into crime scenes. No, the coin was surrendered by an anonymous citizen who was just doing their civic duty and all the usual fol-de-rol.” He holds up a press release with a grin, “It says so right here!”

Patterson then breaks out his special stash of reserved rum and a good time is had by both men. So much so that it is a slightly tipsy Inspector Poole that Fidel drives back to Honoré half an hour later.

“Well, I guess you got your ‘Get out of Jail’ card just as you hoped?” Fidel laughs.

Sighing and lacing his hands behind his head, Poole chuckles, “Yes, I did. In fact, I think we’ll be allowed to conduct our police business uninterrupted from now on. He’s very pleased, very pleased indeed.”

“Really, sir? No more chewing-outs, dressing-downs, winding-ups? No more rants about wild goose chases and unrelated incidents that don’t add up? No more questioning your methods and giving us 24 hours to solve a case?”

“Nope! Carte blanche!” is the very satisfied reply.

Fidel grins, “I’m gonna tell Camille you spoke French.”

Poole sits up a trifle unsteadily, “Don’t you dare! I don’t have a card with her. She’s the only thorn in my side now. If only I could get the upper hand with HER then my life would be perfect.” He settles back into his seat mournfully.

Fidel lets the silence spin out, lets the Chief think about this for a while. As the station comes into view, he murmurs, “Um… this thorn in your side, I might be able to help with that, sir. If you want.”

Poole rouses a bit sleepily, “Hmm? Help me with what? Sorry, I was wool-gathering.”

Fidel smiles privately, “Yes, sir, with Camille, sir, your thorn, sir. If my suggestion helps, will you give me a ‘Get out of Jail’ card too?”

Poole scrubs at his face, “What are you wittering on about, Fidel? Out with it.”

“Well, sir, I have an idea about how you can get the upper hand with her but you must promise to never divulge your source because she will kill me deader than dead if she finds out.”

Poole claps his hands together and rubs them with glee, “Oh! She has a deep dark secret, does she? Well, well, well, don’t keep me in suspense, tell me, man! I can’t WAIT to get out from under her annoying little French thumb!”

Fidel holds up a cautionary finger, “BUT! This could backfire. It all depends on what you do with this secret. You could be on top of the world or buried above the tide-line. She’s not exactly predictable. I can’t make any promises on how she’ll react. If she guesses who told you, I might join you in your unmarked grave so promise me you’ll be careful.”

Poole’s eyes are avid, “Ohhh, this could be dangerous as all that, could it? Hmmm, well, the French are supposed to be a civilized people so how uncivil can she get? Also, I’m sure I can handle the situation adroitly. So, tell me…” he hunches forward, rubbing his hands together “… what’s her secret? I promise to be circumspect. She’ll never learn I got it from you. My lips are sealed.”

In the station lot, Fidel turns off the engine, turns to his boss, and imparts the secret. He sits for almost a minute, waiting for a response, before he quietly gets out and climbs the steps to the office.

Alone.

Dwayne sees him enter and asks, “Hey, where’s the Chief? I need his signature on these forms.”

Fidel glance out the door, “Um, he’ll be up in a bit. He’s puzzling out something right now. It’s pretty dangerous and he’s got to be careful.”

“Huh! We got us a murder?”

Fidel huffs a deep sigh, sinks into his chair, “Could be a double homicide if he cocks it up.”

“Not the Chief!” Dwayne scoffs, “As long as it don’t involve beautiful women, he’s unbeatable.”

Fidel frowns in sudden worry, “Oh, well then, we’re in trouble.”

END – part 4


	6. There is Treasure Everywhere! - part 5 of 5

Part 5 of 5

Next day

Dwayne rushes up as Fidel comes into the station for the evening shift, grabs his arm, “Bondeye, Fidel! You’ll NEVER believe what happened here an hour ago! Never in a million years!”

Fidel looks carefully about; no overturned furniture, no spilt blood, no broken crockery. The Chief and Camille’s desks are neat and tidy. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t violent. “Tell me,” he says, leading Dwayne to the kitchen table.

“Well, first off…” Dwayne says, sinking into a chair “… the Chief was so quiet all day that you’d hardly think he was here a’tall. Then! Just as Camille is gettin’ ready to leave, what do you think he does?”

Fidel shakes his head, plunking down 2 coffees and sitting opposite.

“He asks her out to dinner!” Dwayne claps his hands and spreads them in wonder, “Just like that! Man, you coulda heard a pin drop! I thought sure she was gonna take a swing at him! You know how touchy she’s been lately.”

Fidel nods, sips. _Oh, yeah! I know all right!_ “Did she accept?” he ventures.

Now Dwayne sits back, picks up his mug, twirls it absently in his hands while looking down into its dark mystery, “Yeah, she did… but real slow and kinda unsure, which ain’t like her a’tall, you know. Me, I got ready to jump between ‘em ‘cause I couldn’t tell what she was thinkin’ but she just sorta stood there, lookin’ at him and smilin’ kinda funny. Then, he stuck out his arm and she took it and they went out the door, her razzin’ him about takin’ his bloody time and bein’ such a closed book and HIM defendin’ himself and callin’ her a ‘French enigma’ and all manner a big words . I could hear ‘em arguin’ all the way down the stairs and across the parkin’ lot.”

Fidel raises his eyebrows in question. _I hope you were careful, Chief. I’d like to live a few more years._

“I heard him say ‘Slow and steady wins the race, my dear.’ My DEAR!! He said THAT and she didn’t clobber him. They was arguin’ fit to kill but, to my mind, it was a happy sound. I never heard anythin’ quite like it before.”

“Well, if she didn’t clobber him, what DID she do?”

“She laughed! Then she started talkin’ French at him and he didn’t tell her to stop. They was too far away for me to hear what she was sayin’ but he was listenin’ and noddin’ and I just don’t know! Man!” Dwayne shakes his head, “Strange doin’s, I’m tellin’ you.”

Fidel nods and leans back in his chair with a sigh, “Maybe, but let’s wait until tomorrow and see how they act. In the meantime, you’re off the clock. Good night, Dwayne.”

As Dwayne closes up his desk and meanders out the door, he turns one last time and gives Fidel a mystified look, “Strange doin’s…”

Next next day

When Fidel mounts the stairs, Dwayne jumps out the door and thrusts a sealed envelope into his hands, “Here! I been waitin’ hours to give this to you. It’s from the Chief. Such a day I had! You won’t believe! I don’t know if I’m comin’ or goin’!”

Fidel looks up from the envelope, “Let me guess, the Chief and Camille… their dinner went well?”

“Went well?! From what I saw here today, they got engaged or somethin’! I never seen her so happy and him so relaxed. They’re keepin’ pretty mum about it but I got eyes and, if it’s one thing I know REAL well, it’s the signs of romance.”

“Well, good for them, I hope they manage to pull it off. Tell me, though, did the Chief seem like his usual self with her? I mean, you know how he is with women.”

Dwayne snorts loudly, “Camille ain’t no woman, she’s Ca-mille! And no, he wasn’t his usual self. Neither was she. I think he surprised her somehow and I don’t wanna guess how. But, you know? It makes good sense when you think on it. She’s perfect for him. I don’t know why we didn’t see it sooner. If he can’t calm her down and she can’t loosen him up then what hope is there for either of them, I ask you?” He shakes his head, “Imagine! A tame Camille. A confident Chief.”

Fidel taps the envelope against his chin, “You may be right, Dwayne. Things sound promising, hey? Let’s keep our fingers crossed for them.”

Dwayne nods once, his eyes fixed on the envelope, “You gonna open that?”

Fidel pops the flap and they both stare down at a small white card, much worn and creased.

Dwayne takes the card, turns it over but there’s no note. He clears his throat and hands it back, “Um, isn’t this from a game? Why only one? Where are the rest? What’s the Chief tryin’ to say?”

Fidel closes the flap and slips the envelope into his shirt pocket. _Pure gold_ , he thinks as he pats his chest, _I will treasure it always and hope like hell I never need to use it!_

He grins at Dwayne, “This is the only card you ever truly need, Dwayne. Didn’t you know that?”

END


	7. It's A Puzzle

** It’s a Puzzle **

The Honoré Town Library has cleared a big table off to one side where a glass wall sheds clear bright light. Mrs. Hellman, the head librarian, has spread out a 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a fiery tropical sunset for the public to pass the time with.

Someone does more than pass time with it.

Richard Poole sees the puzzle while returning his latest stack of books on his day off. He studies it for a while then sits down and begins to work. Nobody pays him the slightest bit of mind until Mrs. Hellman realizes that he’s got the edge and all four corners solved. She goes over to watch then finds herself quickly drawn in and soon there is a small circle of puzzlers working diligently away.

A bit later, several book groups swell the ranks because the puzzle is more fun than their current read. They end up discussing their books anyway since the Chief has read them all. Two birds. One stone.

Lunch is ordered in from La Kaz. Catherine Bordey brings it herself as she is curious why Richard would order so much food from such a strange place. She returns to her bar shaking her head. _Well_ , she thinks, _at least he’s meeting people that share a common interest, as boring as that is._

She doesn’t mention it to her daughter. Why would she?

Richard enjoys his impromptu picnic out in the plaza beneath the shade trees with his new friends. The puzzle is addressed once more and done before closing. Everyone is very pleased and it is Richard Poole who is given the honour of laying the last piece.

Next day, a new puzzle is put out and almost everyone from the day before sits and waits but he doesn’t come. Mrs. Hellman makes a call. He arrives shortly thereafter.

“Sorry,” he explains as he bustles in, “I had no notion you were depending upon me to spearhead the attack. We’re very quiet at the station for the moment so I can spare another day, I’m sure.” He settles down and the puzzle begins to lose the battle. Another picnic lunch is enjoyed and the crew solves the puzzle once more before closing.

Everyone entreats the Inspector to come again the next day. There are no cases that need his attention so he acquiesces happily. Puzzles help him quiet his mind and he needs the mental workout so he’s there when the library opens on the third day. They work diligently, delay their picnic, solve it in the early afternoon then go to La Kaz to celebrate. He basks in their admiration and in tea.

Catherine gives him a sly look as she lays his tray before him, “Well, Richard, you’ve made some friends, I see. Who are they all? How did you meet them?”

He sips and smiles, “Pure happenstance, Catherine, which doesn’t occur often in MY life, let me tell you. We are all obsessive puzzlers and it’s an enjoyable endeavour. We discuss all sorts of things. It’s such a welcome break from fighting crime. There’s talk of starting a club.”

“Mmm,” Catherine muses, eyeing the laughing crowd, “So, no young… people?”

Richard scoffs, “God, no! Puzzles are for old fogeys like me, don’t you know?”

She nods contentedly, “C’est bon,” and wafts away.

The next day, the newly established ‘Honoré Puzzlers Consortium’ arrives promptly at 9am but now there are a few additions; 2 youngest daughters and a niece. Richard has trouble concentrating because he is being chatted up and a slow gyre of feminine company revolves around him. This puzzle takes a bit longer as he is distracted and a bit out of sorts.

Still, a gentleman rises to the occasion.

The NEXT next day he mentions the growing numbers of puzzlers to Dwayne while checking in at 8am before ambling off to the library once he’s sure he isn’t needed on the crime-front. Dwayne thinks for a while then follows him and watches from a secluded corner counting more than three ‘interested shoppers’ before he hot-foots it back to the station and tells Camille when she comes in a bit later.

Within minutes the front door of the library bangs open and the ‘Shhhh’ signs are rigorously ignored as tidal wave Bordey surges into the room, scoops him up, and washes him away all the while throwing blazing looks back over her shoulder and making pointed comments about ‘someone being needed elsewhere, tout suite!’ and ‘no time to waste on riff-raff!’

The survivors eventually settle back down but it doesn’t go well.

“Must have been a murder,” Bill Vardy murmurs to Lilith Hellman, “Miss Bordey seemed quite excited.” He is proud of his next-door neighbour. _Nice girl. Bit intense but a good man would settle her down._

“Nonsense,” Lilith murmurs back, “We would have heard about it already. Nothing travels faster on this island than bad news.” Then she frowns and has to be quite strict with the 6 or 7 younger restless female-types, telling them that if they aren’t actively involved in solving the puzzle then they must stand away from the table.

Eventually most of the slackers wander off (as the main object of interest is obviously gone for the day) amid much discussion on the meaning of ‘riff-raff’.

The next next NEXT day he’s back but now he has a guard dog and she takes her task very seriously indeed. The eddy of female admirers is held at bay by sheer force of Bordey will power, the puzzle is done in jig time, and although the original crew feels very accomplished, he has an announcement.

“I must make my apologies as I cannot spare any more time away from my professional duties. I enjoyed my time here with you...” He hems a bit and darts a hasty eye to the younger contingent, “Er, um, that is to say, with MOST of you, and I hope the ‘Honoré Puzzlers’ continue in their efforts to conquer chaos and bring order to the universe.”

This comment pleases most of the crowd. He says his goodbyes and leaves. The youthful female persons trickle away when he is gone. Hereafter, only 500-piece puzzles will be set out and library life settles back to its former lassitude.

Walking back to the station, he grouses, “Honestly, Camille, you act like you saved me from man-eating sharks or something of that ilk. It was just a harmless pastime that people are interested in. We were getting new members every day. Nothing bad was going to happen.”

“Sez you,” she snaps back. “Sharks don’t live only in the ocean and some of those ‘new members’ weren’t harmless at all. Something bad WAS going to happen and I’m just glad I was there to stop it.”

“You are over-reacting, as usual. What’s the harm in mental organization, spatial orientation, and pattern recognition?”

“I dunno, it sounds nice when you say it. It didn’t LOOK very nice when I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

She gives him a blank stare then shakes her head, “You are so hopeless when it comes to women. Why are you allowed out in public at all?”

He frowns, clueless to the very end, “Half the planet is female. By your definition, I’d only be safe locked up at home in solitary confinement.”

She perks right up, “Yes, that’s right! Why don’t I take you home right now and lock you up?”

“I was only trying to make a point. Stop pushing.”

“Point taken. It’s time you were informed of some very important facts. I’ll be most happy to enlighten you… once we’re back at your place… once you are safely locked up, I mean. Up you get.” She chivvies him into the Jeep.

He baulks in the doorway but is convinced to comply by a firm shove from behind, “Are you taking me home already? It’s only mid-day. If I’m locked up, how will you enlighten me? Are you going to pass me notes underneath the door?”

“No. I have another method in mind. You’ll see. Trust me.” She concentrates on her driving.

He crosses his arms and harrumphs grumpily from his corner, “You are a complete and utter mystery to me. How do we manage to solve crime together?”

She smiles, “Oh, a good partnership depends on all sorts of communication techniques. I’m going to show you some new ones real soon now. Just be patient.”

He settles down, looks out the window, sighs deeply, “I don’t know why I let you push me around like this. I really don’t. I’m the boss. I’m supposed to be in charge. We can’t BOTH take the day off, you know. ONE of us has to work.”

She turns into his lane, “Oh, I know, and it won’t really be a day off. These communication techniques can be quite tricky. There’s a lot of hard work in your immediate future but I think you’re up to it. Also, you let me push you around because deep down you know I’m right, don’t you?”

He gets out of the parked truck and nods as he brings out his door key, “Yes, you usually are. I don’t understand half of what you say or do but I’ve come to trust you. Well, thanks for the drive and…”

He is being jostled. He turns, sees her standing close, “Where are YOU going?”

She says with a straight face, “I’m going with you.”

“You are? You’re not really locking me in, are you?” He sounds anxious, holding his key to his chest.

“No, it’s no fun being locked up alone, is it? Ask any prisoner. What you need is company.” She levels a stern eye at him, “The RIGHT sort of company.”

His eyebrows climb in hopeless cluelessness, “I do? Company? And that would be… you?”

She takes the key out of his hand and unlocks the door. She stands aside and gestures him inside, sidling after him right on his well-shod heels. “Yes,” she whispers, “that would be me. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

The door closes. A quiet click of the door-lock is heard. There is the clink of a key dropped onto a counter. Then a rough gasp. Then total silence.

He is learning the first of several very valuable communication techniques right now. Techniques that will come in very handy over the next few hours, days, weeks, months, years. Techniques that involve quite a LOT of trust.

She is also learning something very valuable, something she’s been hoping for but wasn’t really sure about. Not until right now.

She can trust him too.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was one of these library puzzlers. Now I'm solo. S/P


	8. Where Have All The Good Men Gone? - part 1 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this one was inspired by a 'Peanuts' strip by Charles Schulz, the one where Lucy is bemoaning this same fact and Snoopy tries to help but instead falls onto his nose with a 'klunk'. Sometimes I wonder about myself. At any rate, here's the story. You tell me if I need therapy or not. S/P

**Where Have All The Good Men Gone?**  
Part 1 of 4  
“I beg your pardon?” Richard says a bit breathlessly, eyes a bit wide and a bit disbelieving.

Camille throws herself none-too-ladylike back into her chair and thumps down the requisite four beers, “I SAID…” she huffs “… where have all the good men gone? I’m so tired of being hit up by pretty boys, old goats, brainless oafs, and tourists wanting a one-nighter. I could just scream!”

Dwayne picks up his beer, “C’mon, Camille, no need to get so mad! So that guy got fresh at the bar, so what? Look, your Maman is readin’ him the riot act right now an’ he’ll be out on the street if…” he pauses as he sees Catherine’s thunderous look towards their table then stands, “C’mon, Fidel, Catherine wants we should bounce that guy.”

A quiet voice intrudes, “No need, gentlemen, I’ll handle this,” and the Chief is gone before anyone can do anything but gape at his retreating back. 

Dwayne sits back down slowly and mutters, “What the heck?” as they watch their boss apply precise anatomical knowledge to frog-march the offending reveler out the door and onto the street. When the Chief returns a minute later looking dour yet satisfied, Dwayne waits a beat before venturing, “Is that guy goin’ to the hospital too?”

There is a brief pause as Richard smooths down his tie then picks up his beer, “Of course not, Dwayne, why would you ask such a question?”

Dwayne watches the man roll his shoulders like he’d welcome sending someone to the hospital but instead simply says, “’Cause you looked like death when you left the table, that’s why. You feelin’ OK? This hot spell gettin’ to you maybe?”

As a swallow of cool beer slips down to settle the roiling jealousy in his heart, Richard answers low, “I’m fine.” A heavily-laden silence falls at the table because two-thirds of those present heard _‘I’m NOT fine’_ and the final third is too upset to hear the sub-harmonics as she continues her lament.

“I mean it!” she groans, “Two years I’ve been back on the island and I haven’t met a decent man that I could stomach for more than an hour since I got here! It’s hopeless. I give up.”

Fidel tries to sooth her, “Oh, no, don’t give up, what about all those blind dates? Isn’t there one that…”

She throws a hand into the air, “Useless! Every single one of them! I don’t know what Maman thinks I need in a man but whatever it is, it’s not working! More and more I’m beginning to think that NO one is ever gonna love me just for me, for the real me, you know?”

Fidel frowns and puts a hand over hers, “He will, Camille, he will. You just wait. He’s out there somewhere and when he finds you, he will, and that will be that, right, Chief?” He turns to his daily source of knowledge and assurance, knowing in his heart that the Chief will be full of advice and suggestions - but no! He is met with a stony face and downcast eyes. This is so uncharacteristic of his boss that he repeats, “Chief?” just in case the man hadn’t heard him. The Chief’s eyes jerk up beneath lowered brows and deliver a shafted look that is positively hostile! 

Fidel swallows and sits back abruptly in his chair, his hand stiffening upon hers in shock. The Chief has NEVER looked at him like that, not even when chewing him out, not even during a rant! Fidel immediately searches his memory for whatever he might have said that could be misconstrued… but he comes up empty. He darts a ‘help me’ glance to Dwayne.

Dwayne sees all this by-play and is just as mystified. He leans forward to deflect whatever anger Fidel has stirred up unintentionally, “Fidel’s right, though, ain’t he, Chief? Camille won’t be alone much longer, hey? Not someone as lovely an’ charmin’ an’…” but now HE is the target for that mad glare. However, Officer Dwayne Myers is made of sterner stuff and forges on, “I mean, someone so gifted an’ talented an’ beautiful, she’s just gotta be patient, right?” The mad glare heats up. Dwayne waits a beat to give the man time to speak but he doesn’t so he turns to Camille, “And if he don’t turn up soon, you can always go off-island an’ look for him, right? Mama Pru’s ‘Lovelorn Column’ runs in all the local newspapers, you can shop there.” He smiles. DS tweaked and problem solved.

Camille has been staring down into her beer but now she looks up and snorts, “Yeah, like that’ll work! Five years in France and I didn’t find him. Two years here and I haven’t found him. I’m not gonna advertise in the want ads but where do I look next? On-line? I’ve tried that…” She snorts again and looks deeper into her beer. Maybe the key to her future lies within the bubbles. But, no, all she can make out is the white reflection of Richard’s shirt and the night lights behind him. She sighs.

Across the table, the Chief stiffens minutely and now his frowning glare is directed at her. Dwayne sees this and his curiosity doubles. He settles back and decides to watch the Chief. Something is going on with the man and it seems pretty serious but despite two years’ constant exposure to this Brit he still has no clue what the man is thinking or feeling. However, this man HAS taught Dwayne to be observant, so he will observe. Perhaps a clue will present itself. It usually does if you look and listen hard enough. 

Fidel in the meantime is carrying on the conversation, “And?”

Camille scoffs, “And it’s even worse on-line! Do you know I’ve seen the same photo posted for dozens of men’s profiles? The nerve! How stupid do they think women are?”

Fidel shakes his head, “Well, if they’re looking for a stupid woman then that lets YOU off the hook.”

Dwayne sees the Chief nod angrily and a weird thought pops into his head. He tries to dismiss it but… watching the Chief watching Camille… the thought gains strength. Dwayne decides to chum the waters a bit and pipes up, “If’n you hadda write an on-line ad, what would you say, Sarge?” He keeps an eagle-eye on his boss and gets a huge surge in the waters that he hadn’t expected… for as Camille talks, the Chief flushes then goes pale then flushes again, his hands twist together then still then twist once more, his feet shuffle then cease then shuffle again. The man cannot sit still.

There is no doubt about it. The boss man is on tender-hooks and hanging onto her every word!

“What would I say? I’d say I’m not interested in liars and good-time boys. I need a man, a real man, a quiet man. One I can trust my life to, one that will never let me down. You know my story, poor little half-orphan abandoned by a skirt-chasing idiot. Like-minded fools need not apply! I don’t care if he’s rich or poor. I don’t care if he’s got his own house, three cars, a yacht, and a plane! I can make a home anywhere if I’m with the man I love. A tent, a shed, a… a…” She looks off into the near distance, searching for just the right word.

Dwayne hears the Chief ghost a word under his breath and it sure sounds like ‘shack’ so he keeps an eye on the man as he asks her, “An’ what about schoolin’?”

“Oh, that’s easy, he’d have to be quick and smart. I couldn’t live with a dull man.”

Dwayne sees the Chief has frozen now so he asks another leading question, “An' age? Do you need him young so’s you can train him up proper?” Fidel snorts at this and shares a look with Dwayne but the Chief does not. If anything, he is an even stonier graven image of a listening man. 

“Oh, age, hmmm, I don’t know. He’d have to be pretty special if he’s younger than me and I don’t want to be anyone’s mother. I think… I think I’d like someone a bit older... someone with a bit more life experience to balance out my impulsiveness. He’d have to be patient too since I have a pretty bad temper…”

Here all three of her male companions snort in unison and her eyes start to blaze up but then she chuckles low, “…as you all know very well. Yes, he’ll need the patience of a saint to put up with me. Maybe that’s why I’m still alone.” 

She turns to her so far silent boss, “Do you think I should maybe take anger management courses? Would it help in my professional life too?”  
End – part 1


	9. Where Have All The Good Men Gone? - part 2 of 4

Part 2 of 4  
Now all three pairs of eyes are on the Chief as he blinks, sits back quickly, settles his shoulders, and comes back to life. Dwayne sees that the man had been sitting on the edge of his seat, listening with his whole heart. Dwayne nods to himself as his earlier thought gains validity.

“Um, well,” Richard hems and haws, finding his voice, “learning to conceal your emotions is always a good thing. You can’t let people know your heart, it gives them power over you. Once you lose your privacy, you’re open to attack. So, yes, I’d say anger management is always a plus.”

Camille pats his shoulder, “I can always count on you for good advice. Thanks.”

Dwayne decides to begin steering the discussion a bit, “Are you sure you’ve taken a real good look around here, Camille? Ain’t there no one at all that fits your wish list?” He carefully keeps his eyes on Camille but the Chief’s reaction registers sharply as green eyes are once more fixed upon him fiercely.

She shrugs, “I’m pretty sure not, Dwayne. Ideally, I need someone already in law enforcement. I really think cops need other cops… or near-cops… no offence, Fidel.” 

She lays a hand upon Fidel’s and he smiles, “None taken, I knew the risks when I married Juliet. We talked long and hard about it. We thought we could manage but now that I’m a Sergeant, it’s getting more difficult.” He turns to the Chief and adds, “I’ll need a lot more advice on how to juggle a personal life with my professional life. I need to stay a good husband while becoming a Chief in my own right.”

For some reason, this makes the Chief squirm more than anything else that’s been said. Dwayne smiles a small smile and thinks he knows why… but he needs to be sure so he asks, “That’s right, Chief, how does a man juggle a wife an’ family while still bein’ the Chief?” The flash of green to Camille then down to the table top speaks volumes, Camille doesn’t see it but Dwayne does.

“Well… I… I don’t really know, do I?” Richard stutters. “All I’ve ever had is my job. I’m in the same boat as Camille except I’m also trapped by my upbringing.” He has the rapt attention of everyone.

“Whadaya mean, Chief?” Dwayne prods gently, “I can’t see you bein’ heavy-handed with a woman, not like that guy you just bounced. You’re subtle, maybe TOO subtle. Is that your problem? Have you tried to get a woman’s attention an’ she didn’t notice? I’ve always wanted to know somethin’… how many romances have you been through… if you don’t mind me askin’?”

Now the Chief looks away, “That’s too personal a question, Dwayne. I’m not going to discuss my…”

“So, that’s a big Z-E-R-O, is it?” Camille scoffs. At the Chief’s hot look, she crosses her arms, “I can read you like a book, you know. You’ve told me time and time again, you don’t understand women. We’re an alien life form to you, aren’t we?” 

The Chief frowns massively and turns away. 

Dwayne’s uncertainty is banished. He nods to himself. He watches Camille simmer in frustration. He watches the Chief coming to a boil. _Maybe he’s finally going to say something,_ he thinks just before the Chief erupts to his feet.

“That’s my night over. Great chat, team. Time for me to go home...” 

As the man passes behind Dwayne’s chair, Dwayne barely hears the mutter, ‘Alone. Again. Damn,’ and a sudden stab of conviction lances Dwayne’s heart. He jerks forward, grabs Fidel’s arm and hisses in his ear, “Go after the Chief! Keep him here. Do whatever an’ say whatever you hafta but keep him HERE!” 

He pushes Fidel towards the Chief and watches him engage the Chief in speech at the door. The Chief is waylaid and guided to a quiet table in the corner where the two men sink into conversation. _Good boy_ , Dwayne thinks. Then he turns to Camille and gives her a cold look, “Camille Bordey, I am totally shocked by your cruelty. How can you talk like that in front o’ the Chief? Are you really as heartless as you act? Maybe he’s right… maybe you ARE too French!”

Camille gapes at him, “What? How dare you! We may be friends but don’t forget I’m your superior officer and you will treat me with respect!”

Dwayne leans on the table and transfixes her with his eyes, “Oh, yes? Now you’re playin’ the ‘superior officer’ card just ‘cause I’m tellin’ you the plain truth? Who do you think YOU are… the Chief? He’s trapped by his upbringin’ an' general Britishness but I’M not! I AM your friend an' you’re gonna listen to me for once!”

Her eyes snap, “What do you have to tell me? What can you say that will help me in ANY way? Dating advice? From YOU? Don’t make me laugh. I need a life partner not a fling!”

Now Dwayne’s pulse jumps, “OK, I prob'ly deserved that… but I’m not ignorin’ someone who is totally devoted to me an' pinin’ away to a shadow. I’m not spurnin’ someone who loves me deeply. I’m not tormentin’ a decent person an' breakin’ his heart daily. I’m not…”

Camille’s eyes have been widening with every word. Now she dives and catches his hand and almost shouts into his face, “Who!? Who is it? You’ve seen something, haven’t you? Something I’ve missed! All this time I was blathering and you knew something, didn’t you? Who is it? Tell me!"

Dwayne nods, “Well, yeah, I did see somethin’ but I’m not sure I should tell you. If he hasn’t declared himself by now then maybe he’s never gonna. Either he’s too scared of your reaction or maybe he’s decided he’s not good enough or strong enough to take you on. It’s his decision to make, not mine.”

This does nothing to calm her. Her grip on his hand is becoming painful. She lowers her voice and growls, “Dwayne Myers, you tell me RIGHT NOW or so help me!”

“Oh, you’ll what? Twist my arm off? Tear a strip off me? Well, let me tell you somethin’… I’m no gentleman! I’ll break your hold an’ give you a good thumpin’! I’ll open my mouth an’ tear a double strip offa you! You won’t run rough-shod over me like you do him! I’m not that sorta man!”

Now she is staring open-mouthed. He reaches over and snaps her chin up. Her eyes are almost panicked. He waits. She slowly falls back into her chair. He takes a sip of beer and checks on Fidel. He’s still talking to the Chief. Good. All the players are still on the board. He turns back to Camille and raises an eyebrow. It seems to prod her back to life.

“No,” she breathes. “Impossible,” she gasps. “You are so totally WRONG…” she croaks but he can tell her mind is churning away, sorting, checking, rehashing, remembering, and maybe seeing a new picture beginning to take shape. She suddenly hunches forward on both elbows and jerks her chin at him. He leans forward and they put their heads together.  
End – part 2


	10. Where Have All The Good Men Gone? - part 3 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to 'NancyStew' for teaching me a new word... peng... in her ongoing story 'The Beauty Pageant'. I looked it up, its an interesting evolution of meaning, and I couldn't agree more! S/P

Part 3 of 4  
At the second table  
Meanwhile, the Chief and Fidel have finished discussing the tricky question of Nature versus Nurture, the use of ‘hunches’ in a case, and the teething problems of baby Rosie. Fidel dekes a quick glance towards Dwayne but sees he is in deep consultation with Camille and so…

He turns back to the Chief and says the first thing that comes into his head, “So… there’s no one for you, sir? Here on the island? What about back home? Did you leave someone special behind?”

The Chief starts to swell up in indignation then stalls in sudden confusion. If it were anyone else asking this question, his indignation would feel rightly justified! But this isn’t just anyone asking, this is Fidel, someone so tried and true that a cruel remark would never pass his lips. Upon this realization, the Chief deflates wearily and it is Richard who answers in a low sad voice, “No, there was no one special ‘back home’. I’ve cut all ties. England is just a bad memory now, except for the cool rain.” He sits up a bit, tries to put some life back into his voice, “No, for better or worse, this is my home now, Fidel, and if I’m to find a partner, it has to be here.”

Fidel tries to keep the dismay off his face. He hates to think of his boss being all alone on his own. During work hours, at the station and on the job, the Chief has his team, but after work… later… in the evenings and his off-hours, who does the Chief have? No one. Fidel’s gentle heart aches at the thought and so he tries to put a bit of cheer into his own voice, “Ah, I’m glad to hear that, sir, about this being your home now and not your lack of… I mean having no… um, so, ah, no luck on the dating front yet? You don’t really get out much though, do you? Maybe she’s here somewhere and you just haven’t…”

His Chief interrupts this painful litany of reasons why he’s still a bachelor with a rushed hushed, “Oh, she’s here, all right, I see her every day. Well, almost every day. She’s here and I’m here but I just don’t know what to do about it. I can’t seem to find the words.” His voice begins to fade, “OR the time.” Now it is a whisper, “OR the nerve.” He stares at his hands, afraid to meet Fidel's eyes.

Fidel’s amazed face splits into a sudden smile, “So you’ve already met her! That’s great, sir! Oh, I’m so relieved. You deserve someone special, you really do. Congratulations!”

Richard throws up a cautioning hand and alarmed eyes, “Don’t congratulate me! She doesn’t know.”

Fidel frowns, “Oh, but sir, you have to tell her! What if she finds someone else while you hesitate?”

Richard puts both hands to his face and groans, “Oh, Fidel! You have hit the nail right on the head! She’s looking… actively looking… and I’m so afraid that I’ll be passed over. She can have any man she wants so why would she pick me? I’m nothing; so invisible as to be practically cellophane. She’d never see me, never in a million years. It’s hopeless.”

“Then you have to tell her! You have to speak up, tell her how you feel, you have to. Why do you hesitate? Don’t you think it’s worth the risk? To win her hand? Sure you’re nervous, who isn’t? I could hardly get the words out when I proposed to Juliet but look at me now! I’m happily married with my own home and a baby girl who thinks I’m a hero! You have to say something and… what’s the worst that could happen? She’ll either say yes or no and then you can take it from there.” He touches his boss’s stiff arm, “I’m sure she’ll say yes, sir. Of course she will. I’m sure of it.”

Richard parts his fingers and gives Fidel a despairing look, “What’s the worst that could happen, you ask? She could break both my arms and skin me alive. She could make my job so unbearable that I’d have to resign and leave the island. She could turn you and Dwayne against me. Hell, she could turn this whole town against me. I simply can’t risk everything I’ve gained here; my eccentric little house, the station, my standing in town, you and Dwayne! If I lose all that, especially my job, then I’ve lost my place and meaning in Life. There will be nothing left for me.”

Fidel is shocked. What sort of demon has the Chief fallen in love with? He slips a supportive hand to the man’s shoulder, “Oh, sir, no! Who would dare lay hands on you? Who could threaten your job? No one can turn me against you. Nor Dwayne! And who could influence the entire town, hmm? The only person even remotely capable of ANY of that is… is... ” 

He stops talking, aghast. He’s seen the guilty hopeless look in his Chief’s eyes just before he claps his fingers shut once more. Several things crash together in Fidel’s mind all at once. The resultant traffic jam is major. It is several moments before he can find his voice, “Oh, sir, not HER, sir! Please tell me we’re not talking about… about…” He swallows with a dry click. Visions of doom dance in his head.

Richard drops his hands onto the table top and nods once, miserably, “Oh, Fidel, I am SO screwed!”

Back at the first table  
“Oh, Dwayne, no, not HIM! Please tell me we’re not talking about… about…” Doom, visions of, see above.

“Camille, stop for a second, calm down, take a breath an’ tell me why we can’t be talkin’ about…”

“Well, he’s my boss! He’s so damn smart it’s scary! He’s British! He’s all proper and manners and tea and… and…” She seems to run out of steam at the impossibly long list of ‘why nots’.

“Mmm-hmm. He’s older. He’s wiser. He matches your description of Mr. Right to a ‘T’ plus he’s all proper an' manners an' tea an' such... but none of that matters, not really. What matters is this, do you find him peng?” His answer flares across her cheeks like a flag as her eyes jerk away from his. He smiles, slow and relieved, “Ah, I see, so you HAVE noticed him, hey? Any chance you’ve kissed him?”

Her eyes jerk back, flared and alarmed, “What?! No! Of course not… well… just that time on his birthday when he was asleep in his chair.” She sees Dwayne’s cocked eyebrow and rushes on, “And at the taxi when he left for England… but that’s ALL! I swear. He’s never shown any interest in me, not in word or deed or action, so I think you’re wrong, Dwayne! The man is just not human. Nothing I say or do gets the slightest rise out of him! He just cuts me to pieces with his words, ignores me all together, or fights with me. He doesn’t love me. I don’t think he can.” She looks down in deepest sorrow.

Dwayne leans back and laughs with relief, “Hah! So I was right! You do have feelin’s for him, don’t you? An’ have you told him any of this? Did you do the adult thing an’ tackle this problem head on?”

She twists her fingers into a complicated knot, “Well, nooo, he’s too scary, like I said. I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me. Or get insulted. Or fire me. Or all three.”

Dwayne covers her fingers with a warm hand, “He won’t, Camille, he won’t. While you was bangin’ on about ‘no nice men anywhere’, I was watchin’ him… an’ you were killin’ him! He almost went up in smoke. An’ remember who it was marched that guy from the bar for you. Mmmm, I never seen him so mad, he wanted to kill that guy, believe me. Think back now. If he were any other man, what would you think about what he’s said or not said, done or not done? Would you see a man who wants to be left alone in solitary confinement… or would you see a man in love?”

Dwayne stands, “I’m gonna leave you now for a bit, I’m goin’ over to Fidel’s table, I need to talk to the Chief. You can join us there or stay here, your choice.” He picks up his beer and saunters across the room to drop into a vacant chair beside Fidel before releasing a tightly held breath, “Whew! I’m surprised I got outta that conversation with my head still on my shoulders!”

The Chief frowns, “What in the world were you discussing? I’ve never seen her go through so many emotions at once like that… not unless she’s correcting me about some blunder I’ve just made.”

Dwayne smiles, “You, Chief, we was talkin’ about you. Now I’m here to talk about her.” He turns to Fidel, “Can you go sit with her? Make sure she stays?”

Fidel thinks for a moment, looks to his Chief, then nods and goes to Camille. The hopeful look she raises to him almost breaks his heart when she sees he isn’t who she wants him to be. He sinks down and takes her hand, “Um, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on here tonight other than its something to do with you and the Chief. He’s very unhappy, Camille, and I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets that it involves you. Will you stay with me for a few minutes until Dwayne’s had a chance to talk to him? Maybe after that everything will start to make sense.” She nods but has eyes only for the table across the room. Fidel turns and they both watch.  
END – part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be in-country next Friday. If so, I will post on the Saturday. S/P


	11. Where Have All The Good Men Gone? - part 4 of 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had such a good time we stayed an extra day then got caught in bad traffic and went cross-country which added hours to our time and so I crashed and now I'm 3 days late to post. Oh well, better late than never I always say. S/P

Part 4 of 4  
Now at the second table  
Dwayne folds his hands on the table top and looks into guarded green eyes, “Chief.”

Richard says cautiously, “Yes, Dwayne?”

Dwayne replies just as low, “She’s had an epiphany, Chief. I think she’s ready to talk to you. Are you ready to talk to her?” The Chief’s mouth moves but no sound comes out. The man looks positively stricken. Dwayne scoffs gently, “C’mon, Chief, how hard can it be? Just tell her you like her. You don’t hafta declare undyin’ love or nuthin’. You should know within seconds what she thinks of you.”

Richard suddenly looks hopeful, “Do you really think so?” He dares to sneak a glance across the room and sees two pair of brown eyes looking back but only one pair is filled with mute appeal. “Oh,” he says quietly. He stands. “Oh,” he says again. He spends several moments in thoughtful attitude then turns back to Dwayne, “Do you know, Dwayne? I believe I WILL speak to her, if you think the timing is right?”

Dwayne nods, “Oh, yer timin’ is right on, Chief. Just take it slow, OK? She’s had a bit of a shock an’ she might not want to tell you everythin’ all at once. Why don’t you ask if she finds you attractive? See if she blushes as hard for you as she did for me.”

He spins back, fixing Dwayne with exultant eyes, “She blushed? Really? I didn’t think she knew how.”

Dwayne nods small, “Oh, yeah, she’s a blusher if you ask the right question. Maybe you can have a few more drinks together an’ see how things work out, hey? Me, I’m gonna take Fidel home. The poor guy is probably wonderin’ what this has all been about. You don’t mind if I tell him, do you, Chief?”

The Chief is straightening his tie, shooting his cuffs, preparing for the final foray into battle, “No, Dwayne, I don’t mind at all.” He stiffens suddenly and looks at Dwayne askance, “Unless you think there’s the slightest chance that she isn’t… that she mightn’t…”

Dwayne groans and propels the man towards Camille’s table, “No, Chief, no chance a’tall. You need to talk to her. She needs to talk to you. So take a big deep breath an’ just do it!” 

They’ve reached the table in question. Dwayne pulls Fidel up out of his chair and pushes the Chief down into it. He decides to take the bull by the horns so he reaches down, takes their right hands, and puts them together in the middle of the table. When he stands back up, he is gratified to see they are both staring at their linked hands and not setting fire to him with their eyes. “OK,” he huffs, “I’m gonna take Fidel home. You two have a lot to discuss… or not... it’s up to you now. C’mon, Fidel, let’s go.”

Fidel bids his senior officers good night. He sees their total concentration on each other and realizes that something monumental may be happening here and he can only hope that he helped in some small way to bring it about. He sighs and follows Dwayne to the door. _Either way, I will have one hell of a story to tell Juliet tonight. I can already hear her excited whisper, ‘And THEN what happened, Fidel?’_ He sighs again. He won’t be able to answer that and Juliet will scold him mightily. He smiles. He loves a good scolding. At any rate, he will be able to placate his wife with the promise that tomorrow will probably hold the answer. She will just have to be patient. As will he.

The two men turn just outside the doorway and look back. Camille and the Chief haven’t moved. Their hands are still clasped and they are like two graven images. Dwayne sees Catherine approaching the table and now HE sighs, “OK, good, I wasn’t sure if Catherine saw all that but I’m guessin’ she did. We can go now. Those two are in the hands of a master now. If they’re not spliced within the week then I don’t know what else a mere mortal man such as myself can do.” 

Fidel nods and the men turn away into the night, trusting in Luck, Catherine Bordey, Erzuli, and the best placed intentions of good friends and colleagues.

Once more at table #1  
Into the profound cone of silence, two monstrous cocktails plunk down between the frozen couple. 

Richard jumps a bit, caught by surprise, looks up into knowing eyes, and gulps with more than a bit of relief. _My goose is well and truly cooked! All I can do now is try to manage the terms of my surrender._

Camille looks up and smiles with total thanks. _Maman is on the job. All I have to do now is manage the manner of his taming._

Camille waits for her Maman’s departure before sweeping up a drink and shoving it into his lax hand. She then toasts him with the other drink and says solemnly (some might even say a trifle gloatingly), “Here’s to all the good men out there - who no longer matter,” and takes a very satisfied swig accompanied by a shivery little squeal.

His eyes snap closed and he shivers in turn. He remembers that feral little squeal so well from the Dead Bride case. It had haunted his dreams for weeks and now it causes a hot little firework to jolt its way outward from the base of his spine once more… jolt right out to the tips of his extremities. 

All of them.

He shudders, trying to regain his equilibrium then hesitates an instant before venturing, “Um, all the men? They no longer matter? Does this mean that you… ah, did you… er, have you… um, chosen a lucky winner? Can I dare to hope…?” She sports a tiny frothy mustache that he can’t take his eyes off of, his words fading away as his fascination grows.

She nods, licking her upper lip and making him shiver anew, “Oh, yes, you can hope. As I have hoped. I’ve had an awful shock here tonight. Turns out Mr. Right was at my side all this time but I couldn’t allow myself to think about it! There seemed to be so many obstacles in the way; his manner, his attitude, his intellect, his nature, his habits, his general stroppiness…” She is giggling at the look on his face as she recites this teasing list of egregious faults.

Richard dives into his drink for something to cool down his sudden fever, chokes on it, wipes his own lip, and rattles down the glass. He takes her hand again without thought and hushes, “But you’re willing to overlook all that, right? I mean, it’s not really as bad as it seems, is it? I’m not totally hopeless, am I?” He takes her other hand too and pleads with her, “Please tell me I’m in the running. Please say there is the tiniest chance that I might win your hand!”

She nods, “You already have my hand, Richard, both of them. But, now, here’s the really important question. Are you listening?” 

He leans forward, a man on the edge of a precipice, gambling everything on one throw of the dice. His eyes are fixed on her lips so as not to miss whatever she says next. His grip tightens down rather painfully but she gives no sign of noticing. 

She sees his desperate uncertainty and smiles slow, lowers her voice, whispers, “Richard, will you take the rest of me too?” She pulls a hand free, lifts her glass and takes a good long drink, gazing at him covetously from above the rim, running her eyes over him, willing him to give her the answer she wants.

He freezes like this is some sort of trick question, eyes wide and slightly panicked, “Um, oh god, how do I answer that? I want to say ‘Of course, you idiot!’ but that doesn’t seem very polite, does it? Not your standard ‘love talk’ and the last thing I need tonight is another arm-lock. So, um, to answer your question…” He dekes cautious eyes to hers, “Er, it WAS a question, wasn’t it?” At her solemn nod he swallows, runs a finger beneath his suddenly tight collar and gasps out, “Ah… yes? Yes, I do?”

She throws her head back and laughs, “No, it wasn’t polite at all but you answered it as only you could! Oh, Richard, I’m so happy.” Then, a sudden frown as she holds up a stern finger, halting his tremulous smile in its tracks, “Just to be clear on this, I’m not interested in a good-time fling.” She runs her eyes over him again in slo-mo, “Despite it being probably the best damn fling I’ll ever have!” His smile flares back to life albeit with a blush as she shakes her head, “No, I’m talking about a most serious relationship here! Exclusive! Just you and me! No one else involved!” He’s nodding now, eyes glowing, and she is suddenly worried, “It’s going to take a lot of finessing to mesh our personal and professional lives but…”

He rallies, enters the conversation, “Right! If we can’t do it then what hope it there for us, hmm? I say we DO it! I’ve wasted too much time hoping and praying. It took Dwayne’s cheekiness and your courage to show me the truth and now I need to forge on.” He makes a fist, shakes it sternly, bobs his head with sudden conviction, “Yes! Full steam ahead, no holds barred, take no prisoners...” His fist just as suddenly collapses as he looks up at her anxiously, “Unless, of course, you don’t… I mean… if you…”

“Mmm,” she murmurs, caressing his tense hand, making him relax, “I like your choice of words. Let’s finish these drinks and discuss all this in greater detail. Then we can order more drinks… orrrrrr…” She doesn’t have to finish the sentence, her secret smile and sly glance to the door says it all. 

It has the desired effect; he is frozen in shocked delight one moment then he is quaffing his entire drink in one gulp and starting to rise up out of his chair. It also has another not-so-desired effect; she has to spend several minutes slapping his back before he can stand and breathe and escort her out into the perfumed intimate dream-night that is the Honoré of lovers after sunset.

As they stroll arm-in-arm towards the beach that leads to another beach that leads to his home, she rests her head on his shoulder and laments, “Poor little me. No one cares for me or even likes me. No one is ever going to notice me or fall in love with me. Why, oh, why can’t someone just lean over and surprise me with a kiss? When will someone ever kiss me like they mean it?”

He laughs and echoes back, “Poor little me. I love her but she doesn’t see me. I’m invisible. She doesn’t care for me. She doesn’t even like me. I want to just lean over and kiss her but she’d never let me. Never in a million years. Why, oh, why can’t she love me in return?”

Their contented laughter follows them into the dark hidden secrets of their first night together.

END


	12. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 1 of 6

**Just an Innocent Holiday Cruise**  
Part 1 of 6   
Richard leans on the aft-deck railing, arms crossed tightly, frowning like black thunder. He watches the Sainte-Marie pier recede with glacial slowness and absolutely refuses to wave or smile or show any positive attitude at all. He even goes so far as to turn his back on his team and the Commissioner as they watch him fade into the sunset.

He grits his teeth and seethes as only an aggrieved Englishman can seethe… which is pretty seethey indeed. _How DARE the Commissioner force me into a 2-week holiday that I neither wanted nor needed? If push had come to shove, I MIGHT have agreed to stay home… but a cruise? A bloody CRUISE? Off-island?! Oh, the bloody gall of the man! If it takes forever, I will bloody get EVEN with him somehow!_

He dekes his eyes sideways, almost looks over a stiff insulted suited shoulder, just to see his team one last time before banishment takes him away… well, maybe ONE team member in particular… but he doesn’t. He’s made of sterner stuff than that! _And her… I mean them,_ he grumbles to himself, _they sure seem happy, don’t they? Happy to see the back of me, just like the Croydon crew!_ His grumbles hush suddenly as he gulps, _I didn’t need this holiday, that’s certain, but maybe THEY did? A holiday from me?_

He sighs in defeat, sad suddenly, for no discernible reason that he can see, but he does what he’s always had to do in situations like this. He stands up straight, sets his shoulders, and thinks, _Well, FINE! I’ll take it in stride like everything else I’ve had to take in stride all my bloody life. I AM English after all… so I’ll do it… but I bloody well won’t enjoy it!_ These thoughts are well-worn as he is fairly used to disappointment but the next thought is definitely new, _And when I get back… oooo, there’s going to be some CHANGES!_

He takes a determined step and paces away, going to look for his accommodations, an oblivious little stormy storm cloud on a sun-drenched deck amid throngs of happy people in the middle of paradise.

Yesterday  
Richard freezes at his desk, disbelieving stag-in-the-headlight eyes fixed upon the satisfied face of Selwyn Patterson as a stunning silence blankets the room. “What?” his numb lips finally manage, “What did you say?”

Patterson smiles and repeats himself, “You are hereby ordered to take all the accrued vacation time you have coming and, since I have a niece working on the cruise ship “Happy Wanderer”, I have taken the liberty of booking you on the ‘Leeward Islands’ outing. You leave in the morning.”

Richard feels his shoulders rising up in umbrage, his voice likewise, “In the… in the… morning? To-MORROW morning? I can’t possibly leave the station at this critical juncture in time! There’s the quarterly reports to…”

“Already done, Chief!” Dwayne calls from his desk, tapping the stack of files at his elbow, “It’s a good thing I asked to be shown last month how it’s done, hey?” The man subsides, watching carefully, perhaps TOO carefully in Richard’s humble opinion.

Richard glares at him then tries again, “Well then, there’s the wrap-up of the Montague case…” 

“Done and dusted, sir,” Fidel chimes in quietly, hefting an evidence box off the breakroom table. “I’m just going to file this away in storage now.” As he passes his boss’ desk, this earns him an even deadlier green glare but the young officer keeps his eyes down and hustles into the back room, away from the ozone-laden atmosphere.

Richard takes a deep breath and begins grasping at straws, “Well then there’s the report of a smuggling ring operating out of West Brook Bay…”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, a call came in last night. It was a false alarm,” Camille smirks from her desk, not caring in the least how upset her DI is, and she gets the worst glare of all! She smiles evilly, shrugs saucily, “What? You were already gone home. Probably already asleep! I didn’t want to intrude on your evening.” She sits back, extremely satisfied with herself, lifting her chin in Gallic defiance.

Richard whispers under his breath, “Yeah? Since when?!” before he desperately turns back to his boss only to see the older man’s stern heavy-lidded look and knows he has lost the argument. He is bloody well going on a bloody cruise and no one bloody well cares if he wants to bloody well go or not!

A minute later, after Patterson sails out of the station, Richard glowers at his desk impotently with arms crossed and a huge frown on his face. Camille sidles over and he turns his head away but she leans down and whispers into his ear, “Oh, cheer up, you grump. Any one of us would give our eye-teeth to take this cruise! It’s the premiere attraction for Giselle’s company.”

“And who, pray tell, is Giselle?” he hisses over his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the tickle of her breath and how it makes his cheek tingle.

“The Commissioner’s niece, Giselle,” Camille states as she straightens up, taking her warm breath with her, “I’m sure she’ll take extra special good care of you. The Commissioner will order her to be polite to you no matter how stroppy you get.”

He wheels on her suddenly, her teasing remark doing nothing to appease his feelings of rejection, “I do NOT get stroppy! I am the epitome of English manners and don’t you forget it!” He spins to pin the watchful Dwayne and the returning Fidel with matching fury, “And don’t either of YOU forget it either!” 

Their careful faces and nodding heads does nothing to lessen his pique and he slumps. _A cruise! A flaming cruise! Just what I DON’T need!_ He looks up at Camille in sudden hope, “Why don’t I just stay home for two weeks? I don’t actually have to go away, do I?” He sounds like a forlorn pup even to his own ears but can’t help himself. Camille will help him, won’t she? She always has in the past. 

She scoffs and looks to the other officers for confirmation, “Because we all know you will sneak in here until we have to lock the doors on you. Then you’d call every 10 minutes for updates until we block you. Then you’d shadow us every time we leave the station. Oh, we know all your tricks! You don’t fool us for one second! Trapping you on a ship and sending you off-island is the only way you will be out from underfoot and out of our hair.” She leans down then and chirps, “Bon Voyage, Inspector!” before sauntering back to her desk with a look of anticipated peace and quiet.

Richard is so out of sorts that he calls it a day and goes home early to try and collect himself. He spends all night trying to come up with some really good reason why he can’t be sent off so summarily like a pariah once more. He finally conks out with a mad plan to hide somewhere in the mountains… even though he knows it can’t possibly work. He hopes a better idea comes with the dawn.

But dawn arrives and no idea presents itself and, try as he might, he can’t avoid the Commissioner when he comes to collect him. Packing up is embarrassing. Everything fits into a small overnight bag. He’s going on a cruise and all he has to wear is the suit he’s standing up in.

“Never mind,” Patterson huffs, “You can get whatever you need aboard ship. I will instruct Giselle to open an account for you at the men’s apparel boutique.” And, with that, Richard is then frog-marched out of his own home and into the waiting car. Within the hour, he is leaning on the aft-deck railing and furiously bewailing his lot in life.  
END – part 1


	13. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 2 of 6

  
An hour later  
Well, his room hadn’t been too bad. After all, what does a bachelor need for his daily routine but a single bed, a wardrobe, a small desk, and a pocket-sized bathroom? At least the water pressure was impressive. He will save oodles of time on his showers. Putting away his belongings had taken all of three minutes. Sitting at the desk, he’d found the ship’s schedule and passenger information package. The very first thing that had caught his eye was the Tea Room! He was out the door like a shot, finding this blessed haven of respectability by sheer will power alone. 

Now, as he settles at his table, he sighs with relief. _Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all? Now all I need do is find the library and maybe…_ His reverie is interrupted by a gruff voice, “I say, do you mind if we share your table? Ladies travelling alone benefit from a man’s presence, you know. It’s a well-known fact.”

His flash-back to a similar interruption of tea during the Dead Bride case blazes across his mind’s eye before he looks up and is jolted back to the present as a vision of a sassy laughing Camille fades. He is being regarded rather intently by four pairs of inquisitive octogenarian eyes. He is so surprised that the words are out before he can stop himself, “Oh, er, of course, ladies. Be my guest.” 

By the time his tea arrives, he knows all their names, their deceased husband’s names, their children’s and grandchildren’s names, and all the places this group has visited in the past year. His head is spinning with information and a bit of admiration as, despite himself, Richard is slowly drawn into their life stories, thinking, _I hope when I’m 80 that I still have the nerve and energy to try new things._

The ring-leader, Judith, is now expounding, “As I was telling Blanche when we walked into this establishment, what we need is a pleasant single man who doesn’t mind providing us with some polite company during the cruise.” She pauses and gives him the eye, “Not a gentleman of our own age, of course, as that always leads to complications. Ruth and Alice always try to out-vamp one another, don’t you, girls? Remember Old Prof? The poor man had to cut short his vacation because of you two!” 

This leads to hearty laughter and much ribbing amongst the oldsters while Richard shudders unobtrusively and can’t help thinking, _God help any helpless male caught in the toils of this lot! Poor Old Prof, wherever you are now, I feel for you, mate!_

By the time their tea arrives, the ladies are already critiquing his clothes and, when he sheepishly admits that he doesn’t have any holiday kit, his afternoon is booked most firmly! They will take him shopping… of course they will… won’t take no for an answer… it will be such fun… and isn’t he a perfect dear to let them enjoy themselves in such a manner?

Well, what can the ‘perfect dear’ say to that?… except a shaky, “All right, if you insist.”

They do insist... and they enjoy themselves immensely as Richard is put through his paces in their choices of clothes for him to model. There is much humming and cocking of spit-curled heads as they evaluate every stitch, every button, but, at the end of the ordeal, Richard has to admit that they have put together a rather sedate yet totally ‘festive’ wardrobe for him. He doubts Camille could have done better and the mysterious ‘Giselle’ had already opened an account for him so everything goes smoothly.

So it is that Richard finds himself back in his room, filling the rest of the drawers with his new purchases. Well, he really did need lighter shirts, didn’t he? Short-sleeves can be professional looking too if you wear them correctly. The lighter pants were a bit slap-dash but the dark colour made up for it. The jacket has no inner pockets but he’s sure he can cope. The shoes now… the shoes are going to be a problem. He could never wear them to work but, perhaps, around the house? Fine! Bare ankles never killed anyone and it feels so comfortable that he will just stop thinking about it!

It is with real relief that he hangs up his suit in the tiny wardrobe and shuts the door firmly. _There! I’ll see YOU in two weeks,_ he thinks. Just as he is stretching out on his bed, reveling in his lighter clothes, his room-phone rings. It is Giselle, checking up on him, did he need help in clothes shopping? Richard assures her that he does not, no indeed, already done, and thanks her for her concern. They chit-chat briefly and, when she is assured that he doesn’t need her help with anything, she hangs up. Richard sighs tiredly and reaches for his book only to have the phone ring again! _Oh, lord, now what?_

It’s Judith and crew… of course it is… they have booked a table for supper and they will pick him up at 17:30 ship’s time… dress up in his new clothes… so dashing! He hangs up and grumbles a bit, _Bother, more company… but then… it’s nice to know who your table-mates will be, isn’t it?_ He sighs and settles down with his new book fresh from his first visit to the library. He has a few hours of me-time to enjoy and he might as well begin his vacation in style, mightn’t he?

Several days later  
So it goes. The ladies have adopted him and there’s no escaping them. It helps pass the time, actually. He spends every morning in the library to research their next destination and is full of facts and touristy tidbits for every island they visit. He is their go-to-guy for history and cultural information as well as the local customs and ‘lingo’. It’s amazing what you can pick up over the world-wide web. He can’t wait to spring some of these terms on his team when he gets home. Dwayne Myers won’t be the ONLY one who knows what ‘sway’, ‘irie’, ‘pompasetting’, ‘bumpsey’, ‘duppies’, ‘likkle’, and ‘chaka-chaka’ means. He is especially eager to use that last term when referring to Dwayne’s desk top. He can’t wait!

“You’re just full of beans, aren’t you?” Alice jokes on day 7 as they watch the latest island fade back into the hazy clouds to hide it from the world, everyone leaning chummily upon the observation deck railing. 

Ruth then chirps, “Yes, why isn’t a jolly fellow like you already married? What’s wrong with you?”

“Ruth!” Judith and Blanche both screech, “How DARE you be so rude to dear sweet Richard!” but then Judith rounds on him and demands, “But it begs the question, dearie, why AREN’T you married?”

Richard huffs and stalls but knows he has to say something. These ladies don’t let him get away with his usual diversionary tactics. They are too canny in the ways of men-folk. “Well,” he finally ventures, “I guess I just haven’t met the right woman yet!” He tries to laugh it off, “She’d have to be something pretty special to put up with my nonsense, don’t you think?” then he simply sighs and says forlornly, “Maybe she doesn’t even exist!” 

Blanche listens to this and hears the truth in his voice, nods, and says with satisfaction, “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, dear, but we’ve been talking… and we have several candidates for your consideration if you’d like to shop around a bit.” 

Judith nods and adds, “Yes, we’re all agreed, you would make a splendid addition to any of our families. Any one of us would be proud to call you an in-law.”

“In fact,” Alice chimes in, “you’d put the absolute wind up several ‘out-laws’ we’re not too fond of. It would put the fox among the hens for sure! I can just imagine the first family gathering with Richard in our midst. Wouldn’t that be fun, girls?”

As the ladies chuckle and cluck, Richard can only gawp at them. He has no reply… to any of it… and he suddenly wishes he was in hiding with Old Prof.  
END – part 2


	14. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 3 of 6

Part 3 of 6  
Several days after that  
Unbeknownst to Richard, Giselle has been keeping an eagle eye on him, trying to pair up her uncle’s stern warnings about ‘that stroppy bugger’ with the quiet man on board. It is with great satisfaction that she reports back to uncle Selly that Richard Poole is no trouble at all and is partying like there’s no tomorrow. There is nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. The man is enjoying himself.

Selwyn Patterson hangs up and sits for long minutes, mulling over his niece’s words, grabs his hat, and marches up the hill to give the team a fulsome report then asking, “What in thunderation do you think the Inspector is up to?” 

The team sits transfixed, eyes puzzled and surprised. Finally, Dwayne shrugs and offers an opinion, “I dunno, maybe he’s actually havin’ fun? Away from us, like? You know, cuttin’ loose?” At everyone’s incredulous looks he shrugs and mumbles, “Well, it COULD happen, we don’t really know, do we?”

Fidel frowns, “Um, well, he’s always on ‘the job’ here, isn’t he? Maybe he really DID need a break, a break away from all of this…” he gestures to the room at large then frowns harder, “… and maybe… maybe from all of US?” His eyes darken. _Could that be right? Was the Chief tired of them? Of ME?_

As Fidel stews at his desk, Camille finally speaks up and she doesn’t sound too happy, “Um, that ship, it’s full of people, right? Strange people? People who don’t know him and he’ll never see again? Er, well, maybe he’s taking the opportunity to let his guard down a bit. You know, show a side of himself that we never get to see because he’s the boss and… and…” Her cheeks pale with whatever she is thinking.

But the Commissioner’s eyes brighten and he nods, “Ah! Of course! He’s on holiday and he’s taking advantage of his single status. Well, good for him, a man needs to let loose once in a while. I didn’t think he’d actually do it but…” He snugs his hat back on and heads for the door, turning back before stepping out, “I will keep you all appraised of further reports, hmm? There are sure to be some amusing tales I can share, perhaps even an at-sea romance?”

Camille jerks up in her chair, “Sir! I’m sure the Inspector would not want us gossiping!”

The Commissioner studies her briefly before intoning, “Sergeant, this is NOT gossip, merely a progress report of a fellow officer while out of uniform and away from our care.” He smiles inwardly at how his careful choice of words makes her pale even more. He gives them all a slight bow, grates out, “As you were,” smiles, and is gone, leaving a well-crafted and fraught silence behind him.

Dwayne and Fidel are staring at each other with disbelief large in their eyes.

Fidel finally mutters, “Um, I’m not sure I really believe any of that. Not the Chief. Not a romance!”

Dwayne nods then frowns, “Well, um, we don’t really know much about him, do we? And he’s never taken a vacation that we know of. Maybe… well, maybe he DOES cut loose once he’s away from prying eyes.” He turns to Camille, “What do you think, Sarge?”

But Camille doesn’t hear this. She is staring down at her desk-top, aghast. All she can think about is the women on board that ship… all those women… and one tiny defenseless buttoned-up Englishman trapped and helpless against feminine wiles of any kind.

One day after that  
Richard is just dressing for tea when the phone rings. He sweeps it up and breezily says, “Richard’s Room, how may I serve you today, Ruth? Or is this Judith?” There is silence on the line and he is just shrugging and moving to put the receiver down when a faint faltering voice speaks.

“Richard? Richard, is that you?”

He jerks the handset back up and answers, “Yes, this is he. Who is this, please?”

Another silence, then hesitantly, “It’s me… Camille… you know… Camille?”

He sits quickly on his bed, “Oh, Camille! What’s wrong? Has there been a murder?”

“No, nothing like that. I was… well, WE’VE been wondering here at work… how’s everything going? Are you having any fun? Have you… have you met any… any, you know, new people?” Somehow her voice sounds a bit strained, must be the weight of responsibility making her sound tired and anxious.

He smiles, “Fine, I’m fine, and I have met some new people, in fact…” He is interrupted by proprietary knocking on his door. He recognizes that knock. It is his posse come to collect him for tea. He leans over and throws open his door (it really is a most small room) and whispers, “I’ll be right with you lot. Hold your horses.” This causes the ladies to laugh and Camille’s voice starts up in his ear again.

“Um, I hear voices.” Her hand gripping the phone is white. “Do you have company?”

“Oh, just the usual crowd, we’re going for drinks.” He winks at the ladies and they find this highly amusing as they know very well he is referring to the Tea Room. They titter and eye one another, _Really! He is a most flirtatious man! Oh, he is going to make one of us a most perfect in-law!_

Richard turns back to his phone call, hears the static hum of empty air, “Camille? Are you still there?”

He hears several aborted attempts at speech and is just wondering if this call is failing when her words filter out faintly, “Drinks? You’re going for drinks?”

“Why, yes, that’s what a single man all alone on a ship full of women does, apparently. I’ve been out every day. Sometimes twice!” He winks at his friends once more and they are waving him away. “Um, look, Camille, I have to go or we’ll lose our table. Was there anything else you needed to…?”

The silence on the phone seems very eloquent before her voice comes again, “Er, no, I guess not. You seem to be all right. I must say, I’ve never heard you sound so chipper. Are you sure you’re…?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Really. My lady friends keep me company almost constantly. One day soon I really must find another man to befriend then I can share my duties and get some rest.” This causes the ladies to burst into laughter as they pink up and chide him for being so forward. He grins at them, says goodbye into dead air, shrugs, and hangs up.

As he locks his door and takes a lady on each arm, he is pleased with himself. _Everyone thinks I’m such a hermit… but I’m not! I just have to find a crowd I enjoy being with, like my team back home. Well, now Camille knows I’m not a monk so she can just stop worrying about me not having any fun._

As he ambles happily down the hallway, part of a friendly crowd again, back on Sainte-Marie, Camille Bordey has indeed stopped worrying. She has stopped merely worrying and is storming about her living room pulling her hair! She has stopped worrying and is now eating her heart out!  
END – part 3


	15. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 4 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to do with this story... except maybe... if you need visual prompts to more deeply enjoy DiP and Richard Poole - - - - check out 'Deviant Art' and search for 'DI Richard Poole' by Yatanis. I am making it my sworn mission to find this exact shot in S1E1 (I recognize the tie). Good luck. S/P

Part 4 of 6  
The very next day  
Richard is tired but happy. Today’s island tour had been fascinating, simply fascinating. Who knew every island, large and small, had such rich history and different enjoyable aspects? He really must ask Camille to finally take him on Sainte-Marie’s official tour when he gets home. Who knows what quirks and surprises his home island holds? And Camille would be so bossy and laughing in the sun, teasing him and chiding him and…

He is just out of the shower when he hears a knock at his door. “Yes?” he calls jovially, “Who is it? Alice? Blanche? Look, you lot, I’m not decent so you’ll have to give me a few minutes…”

A furious voice hisses low and swift, “I don’t care if you’re decent or not! Open this door or I’ll break it down!” His surprise is so all-encompassing that he snatches up his blanket and throws open the door all in one motion. As he winds the blanket about himself, he watches in amazement as Camille storms in so abruptly that the door rebounds off the wall and slams shut behind her with a bang.

He stands stock-still, dripping, as he watches her case the room and checking the bathroom too. He is wiping water from his eyes as she whirls on him and steps in way too close to growl, “OK, where is she? Or, should I say, where are THEY?”

“They who?” is all he can think to say. Then his brain kicks in and he realizes what must have happened. He stands up straight and says, “There’s been a murder, hasn’t there? You need me, don’t you?”

Her mad eyes blaze up ferociously then seem to dim a fraction, “Um, no, there hasn’t been a murder… at least, not yet. Tell me the truth now, are you wining and dining women here on the boat? Have you taken this opportunity to conduct love affairs fore and aft? How many women are you sleeping with?”

His eyes are flared about as wide as they can get and still stay in his head, “What?!! Camille! What on earth are you…?” He’s clutching his blanket most tightly, practically twisting it into a knot.

She grabs his biceps and almost slams him back into his wardrobe, “Dwayne! Dwayne has been telling me every chance he gets about what goes on during these cruises! Even the Commissioner hinted that perhaps you were finally having a jolly good time with the ladies and I’ve… I’ve been…” She stops, sees his scandalized eyes, drops her hands, and steps back, suddenly unsure of everything.

As he belatedly feels his damp skin begin to chill and pulls his blanket up to cover more of himself, she suddenly realizes his condition and stammers, “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize what you meant when you said… oh, merde…” Now she swings her back to him and covers her face with both hands.

They stand in frozen silence for perhaps a full minute and during that unending minute, yesterday’s impossible conversation with his posse is whizzing through Richard’s gob-smacked mind. 

Yesterday  
He mentions Camille’s phone call casually in passing at the dinner table and the ladies jump on this like it is pirate gold laying in the sand! He is grilled mercilessly for almost an hour and forced to tell the ladies everything that has been done and said and undone and unsaid between him and Camille since he set foot on Sainte-Marie. Even Lily Thomson, Megan Talbot, Suzie Park, and Liz Curtis are discussed at great length. Finally, the ladies just sit back and nod sagely if a trifle sadly to one another. 

Richard mops his brow for the very first time in almost two weeks and gasps, “Goodness, what was THAT all about? You lot would make great interrogators if you ever decide to go into police work.”

Ruth leans forward and pats his hand, “Richard, you beautiful brainless lump, you don’t need our help in finding a suitable young woman to share your life with because you’ve already FOUND her.” She turns to the other women and they all frown as she intones, “Sorry, ladies, it doesn’t look like he will be joining our family ranks after all. He’s spoken for. What a pity.”

Richard goggles at them. _Incredible! Four perfectly sentient octogenarians have all lost their marbles at exactly the same moment!_ He leans forward and speaks very slowly and carefully, “What exactly are you wittering on about, Ruth? Found who?”

Judith throws up her hands in amazement, “You really are the handsomest stupid man we’ve ever met! We’re talking about Camille! It’s Camille, of course, can’t you see that?”

Richard calmly folds up his handkerchief, stows it, folds his hands atop the table, and says in his best reasonable voice, “You are all bonkers, gone ‘round the twist, lost your minds. Shall I call the doctor?”

What follows then is the most hotly contested debate he’s ever taken part in, bar none! It carries on all through supper and into the early evening. Finally, he has to excuse himself with a headache. When he closes his door and falls onto his bed, he stares at the ceiling for a long time. It isn’t a headache that has driven him to seclusion. It is the irrefutable fact that he can’t uphold his side of the fracas!

_Camille._ These four women assure him that Camille loves him. _Camille._ Four women with over 200 years of romantic experience, 7 husbands, 15 children, 23 grand-children, and who certainly know the ropes, are telling him that Camille is his love-match and he’d better get off his rump and do something about it before it’s too late! _Camille! Oh god, CAMILLE!!_

Well, he does do something about it. He takes a cold shower and goes to bed.

But sleep is a long time coming.  
END – part 4


	16. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 5 of 6

Part 5 of 6  
The present  
He begins to fiddle with the edge of his blanket, using it to swipe at his hair and try to dry off a bit, “Um, Camille, may I ask how you managed to get aboard the ship just now?”

Her back is stiff as a board as she shrugs and answers him in a tiny voice through her hands, “I caught a flight then a ferry then forced a smuggler to bring me out.”

He runs this through his central processors and relaxes a tiny bit… but just a tiny bit because it never pays to let your guard down with the French… not even with the half-French. A tricky people, the French, well known fact. “Oh, I see,” he murmurs, “and what did the Captain have to say about that?”

She shakes her head, making her hair dance darkly, “Oooohhhh, I told him I had vitally important business of the highest imperative to discuss with you.”

He stares at her hair as he thinks this over then begins arranging his blanket a bit lower, “Mmm-hmm, I see… and do you? Do you have something of vital importance to discuss with me?” He reaches into the tiny bathroom and snags his comb off the sink to make himself more presentable then tosses it back quickly. Camille nods rigidly but doesn’t say anything. Richard steps closer and takes the biggest chance of his life, hoping like mad The Ladies were right and he isn’t risking an injury or a permanent maiming right now. He puts a careful hand onto her shoulder and whispers, “Camille, please talk to me.”

She whirls around, ready for a fight and then halts as she takes in his slightly altered appearance. She seems to struggle for breath before clapping her hands back over her eyes and groaning low, “Oh, oh, stop it! You can’t keep doing this to me! You’re killing me! How can you be so cruel?”

He tips his head back, purses his lips, and thinks this over too. Finally, he decides to let each clue lead to the next clue… just like a good DI should. He tsks, “Me? Cruel? How? To whom?”

“Yes, you!” she cries, “You are cruel and heartless, never taking my feelings into account at all! You ignore me every day at work. You never want to spend any time with me after work… unless it’s work-related, of course. You fight tooth and nail to avoid this trip then you take up with every woman on board! You go for ‘drinks’ every day… and we both know what THAT means, don’t we? Oh, Richard, you’re breaking my heart and you simply don’t care! You are an evil cold-hearted Englishman!”

His head snaps down at this pitiful litany of woe and his eyes are very sharp and bright. “Why, Camille, what makes you think I don’t care?” he asks oh so casually.

She uncovers her eyes and gestures helplessly to him, “Well… well… you have Ruth and Judith, right? And all the others I heard over the phone. You’ve had ‘drinks’ with all of them, haven’t you?” He nods slowly, playing into her misconception. She gives a tiny sob and covers her eyes once more, “Well, there you are! You’re a complete and utter cad and I hate you!” A lone tear escapes, runs down her cheek. 

His heart surges and he makes his decision. _The Ladies were right! By god, they were right after all!_ “All right,” he says with satisfaction, taking her by the arms and sitting her down on his bedside before he starts taking clothing out of drawers, “I’m going to get dressed and you are coming with me.” 

As he steps into his bathroom, she mutters, wiping her eyes, “Go with you? Why would I go with you ANYwhere? You’re a monster, a demon, a dog in the wolf’s clothing, a roué of the worst sort! I hate you! I never want to see you ever again for the rest of my life! You’re despicable, horrible, awful…”

He leans back out, buttoning up one of his new shirts, sees her eyes drop down to look at it in surprise, and chuckles, “Because, my duck, I want you to meet…” but his explanation is cut short by a proprietary knock at his door as female voices are heard in the hall. He tucks his shirt in and steps out bare-footed, “… or maybe I won’t have to take you anywhere at all.” He takes a single pace (VERY small room) and throws open his door.

Camille surges to her feet and looks frantically around for a place to hide but to no avail. She has no option but to meet the enemy. She stiffens her spine and turns to face the door, steeling herself to take defeat like a big girl. That, and not scratch the scheming hussy’s eyes out! A low growl escapes her.

So it is that the ladies are treated to the unexpected sight of a flushed Richard and an ashen Camille as he intones, “Ruth, Judith, Blanche, Alice, may I present Camille Bordey. She has stormed aboard to save me from myself and we were just getting down to the nitty-gritty upon your arrival.” 

The Ladies all glance at one another then give him the once-over and smile knowingly. Judith speaks for the group, “Oh, we see. Well, we all know that ‘the nitty-gritty’ can take some time… so we’ll toddle off to drinks without you, dear. I must say, the Tea Room won’t seem the same without you. Shall we look for you at supper?”

Richard frowns and looks back over his shoulder at his stunned guest, “Well, that depends on a great number of factors but off-hand…” he turns back to them “… I’d say probably not. It’s high time I sampled the in-room menu, don’t you think?”

Judith nods, “Yes, it is, and high time too, right, ladies?” They all nod. Richard gives a polite little bow and shuts the door as they drift away up the hall without him. He stands and listens as their voices fade away into the distance, no doubt discussing him and his visitor. Silence finally falls and he slowly turns, his heart speeding up, to face Camille and, hopefully, some sort of future that doesn’t involve shouting.  
END – part 5


	17. Just An Innocent Holiday Cruise - part 6 of 6

Part 6 of 6  
Camille is still as stone. Camille sinks onto his bedside once more. Camille’s mouth closes and her eyes begin to tick from side to side. Richard leans back onto his door and waits. If it’s one thing he’s learned over the past two years, it’s to never hurry a French woman who is deciding something important.

While she is temporarily speechless, he picks up his phone and asks her, “Shall I order a meal for us?” She nods absently, still mulling things over in her head. He makes the call then sits down beside her and takes her hand. She looks at this for a while then raises her eyes to his. He frowns. He can’t tell what she’s thinking. “Camille, talk to me. Please. I’m getting nervous here.”

She licks her lips and whispers, “That… that was your group of ladies?” He nods. “All of them?” 

He nods again, “Well, there are a few more that enjoy a good foxtrot during dance night but…”

She blinks at him like an owl, “But what?”

He shrugs and looks at her from beneath lowered lashes, “But none of them are under 70.”

She nods and thinks some more, “So… I basically got the totally wrong impression over the phone… let Dwayne and the Commissioner wind me up… rushed out here like a mad thing breaking I don’t know HOW many laws… made a complete fool of myself… for no reason at all?” her voice fades little by little as she loses colour, totally aghast at the magnitude of her faux pas. She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut like she wishes she could wake up any minute now.

He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it very cautiously, “Yes and no, you got the wrong impression but you haven’t made a fool of yourself. I’m the fool for not seeing what was in front of my eyes all this time. Those ladies spent most of yesterday trying to convince me that you are in love with me and that I’d better do something about it before you regain your senses.” He kisses her hand again, “Please don’t regain your senses, Camille. Please stay in love with me. Please say you will.”

She stands then, takes back her hand, and begins pacing the floor… three steps both ways. He watches her a bit fearfully. Finally, she leans back onto his door, arms crossed, and stares at him, not like an owl, more like a leopard. He notices that her colour has improved, is heightening, in fact. He sits up a bit straighter, “Yes?” he asks hopefully.

“Let me get this straight, those ladies told you I was in love with you… and you believed them? Why?”

He spreads his hands, “Well, I told them everything I could remember about us over the past two years and they told me what it all meant. I couldn’t believe them, of course. After all, how can someone as wonderful as you possibly love someone as hopeless as me? But they persisted and wore me down and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” He looks up at her now and his voice falters, “Can it possibly be true? Are you, Camille? Even a tiny bit? In love? With me? Do I have any hope at all?”

She is giving him SUCH a look! It begins to make him extremely nervous. Finally she straightens up and approaches the bed, putting her hands on his shoulders as lightly as new-fallen snow. “How long before the food arrives, mon Anglais doux?” she murmurs.

He blinks at this non-sequitur and the unknown words, “Um, maybe 5 minutes? Why?” He can’t take his eyes off her. Her words echo in his head… on glaze doo… on glaze doo… he likes it… someday he might even ask her what it means.

She smiles then and traces a finger in the V of his exposed throat, “Well, I don’t want to be interrupted AGAIN so we’ll just have to wait, ma fête Anglaise.” Those last words are a virtual purr.

He looks back in astonishment, lifts his hands to her waist and spreads his fingers to feel her firm warmth. He’s almost positive she’s just called him ‘a fat Englishman’ but the tone of her voice is hypnotizing him! For once, he chooses to listen to the tone and not the words, “Oh, good, I’m so relieved, I wasn’t sure if you were going to start a fist-fight or not.” God! Whatever she’d just said at the end there is making all the hair stand up on his body. Something ELSE he’ll have to get translated. But later. Definitely later!

She bends down then to kiss him, just the merest brush of silky skin, but when she stands back up her hands have slipped down his back beneath his shirt. His eyes close in shuddering delight. “As for the fist-fight,” she murmurs, “let’s see what comes along, hmm?” He nods in helpless surrender as he slowly pulls her in and rests his head against her torso. They stay in silent loose embrace until there is another knock at the door about a minute later.

It is Camille who steps away to take their meal order. The tray is placed firmly onto the desk top and ignored for maybe an hour by which time the contents are cold but they don’t care. Ashes would taste sweet at this point in negotiations.

Wine is then needed and another impatient lull is endured until it is delivered. This is consumed on the spot and fuels another hour of agreeable mutual activity. It is full night before they decide to take a brief break to get some fresh air.

Walking the promenade, arms tightly wound about one another, they don’t see anything but each other. They certainly don’t notice four elderly ladies off to one side.

Judith humphs, “Well, that’s that. He’s been snapped up.”

“Nonsense,” Blanche muses, “He was taken a long time ago. He just didn’t know it.”

“Well, he knows it now,” Ruth says. “We’ll just have to start afresh husband-hunting for our young ‘uns. There’s plenty more fish in the sea, as they say.”

“True,” mutters Alice, “but are very many as lovely?”

They shake their heads and watch the couple disappear into the darkening night. _Ah well,_ they all sigh, _tomorrow’s another day. Surely he will introduce us to his lovely bride-to-be in the Tea Room? Yes, he will, and what questions we will have for her! He will likely shrivel up in male mortification since he will be the sole topic of discussion… but that’s to be expected. Men can be such delicate things._

They grin in anticipation. _Won’t THAT be a lively conversation? We can hardly wait!_

END


	18. I Can't Help... part 1 of 2

**I Can’t Help…**  
Part 1 of 2  
“I don’t dance, Camille! You know that!”

She pulls him out onto the dance floor regardless. She isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer this time. This time she means business. He seems to sense it because he actually allows her to position him amongst the other couples there in the dimness.

“WHY don’t you dance? I don’t know that! Why?” she asks as she pivots to face him at last, puts her hands onto his arms at long last, and holds him captive at long LONG last.

“Because… because…” he pauses, licks his lips, then says low, “… because I have to hold a woman in my arms, feel her move with me, look into her eyes, and be forced to face the cold hard truth.”

“And what’s that?” she murmurs, eyes closed. He feels so good, so firm, so strange. His body heat is making her flush.

She doesn’t think he’s going to answer but he does, in a low halting voice, “That she doesn’t feel anything for me. Not the real me. Not the me that matters. The me that needs…” 

“What is it, Richard? What is it you need?” she gently prods as she slips her arms around him as if he were a wild creature just stepping out of hiding.

His eyes flash up then down again and he shrugs as if it’s no big deal, “A life. A love. A hope. A reason.”

“And you’ve never had that? Never?” Somehow it doesn’t seem possible. Not THIS man. Surely not?

“No, I came close once or twice but there was always someone more dashing, more fun, more…”

She shakes her head impatiently, “I’m not interested in hearing about all the idiots you’ve danced with – just the ones you loved.”

A slight flush crosses his face then he pales again, “Oh. Her.” He takes a deep breath and says it all in a rush, “We danced only the once at the Uni graduation. I thought she, you know, liked me but she was just trying to foster jealousy in another man’s heart. She succeeded. They eloped without a backward glance. I never saw her again.”

She blinks in disbelief, waits a beat, then husks, “And there’s been no one since?”

“No… I don’t let anyone in anymore… and I don’t dance,” he says with solemn finality as if he has just made a telling point and won the argument.

She smiles tiny, “What do you call this then?”

He squares his shoulders, she can feel the muscles flexing beneath her hands, “Not the same. We’re having a serious and, frankly, over-personal discussion. I don’t know why I tell you these things. I really don’t.” He frowns at her, “And I don’t know why you want to know.”

Her smile widens, “I do... and I could tell you, if you want.”

He looks at her then, the frown deepening, “Well? Are you going to share?”

“In a moment. Listen, do you know this song?” She steps in the tiniest bit. He doesn’t seem to notice as his head comes up and he listens carefully.

He nods vaguely, “Um, it sounds familiar…”

She laughs quietly, her mind suddenly made up, “Oh, this song is perfect.” She looks up at him with her best school marm look, “Now, listen very closely.”

“To what?”

“To me.” She meets his eyes to make sure he is paying attention then steps the rest of the way in and lays her head on his shoulder, her face turned towards him and softly begins to sing, “Wise men say… only fools rush in… but I can't help… falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help… falling in love with you? Like a river flows surely to the sea… darling so it goes… some things are meant to be. Take my hand… take my whole life too… for I can't help falling in love with you…”

His arms have slid down into a more intimate embrace, “It’s nice. You have a nice singing voice. Alto?” 

Is it her imagination or is he almost nuzzling her temple? Oh, she sure hopes so! She rouses herself, “Um, contralto, actually. I used to sing in the church choir as a teenager.”

He shifts quietly, pulling her in a fraction closer, “I can just picture you, all dressed in white…”

She snorts demurely, “Yeah but no, all dressed in blue with a huge bush on my head.”

He opens his eyes and looks at her in puzzlement, “Bush?”

She leans in and scoffs, “My hair, oh god, my hair! Maman tried everything but nothing worked.”

He reaches up and tucks a stray strand behind her ear, “It seems fine now. What happened?”

She returns the gesture, brushing fingers through his side burn. Up close, his skin glows. Must be all those tiny auburn hairs she can see now. Mmm, the faint light halos him, outlines him in an aura all his own. She realizes he is waiting for an answer so she tells him the truth, “Hormones, I think. Once puberty left me high and dry, my hair seemed to behave itself.”

He smiles and tucks the same strand back again, “Except when it doesn’t.”

She matches his smile, “Yes, except when it doesn’t. Richard?”

“Mmm?” he hums, not even aware of how close they are holding one another.

“Did you hear my song? Did you understand the words?” He nods. “Do you… do you agree?”

“Agree with what?”

“Oh, um, well… maybe I overstepped your boundaries here.”

He laughs low, “Camille, you overstepped my boundaries on our second case together. You’ve overstepped my boundaries every single day we’ve worked together since then. And do you know what?” His voice is questioning, hesitant.

“What, Richard? Please tell me… and don’t be afraid… not of me.”

He gives her a brief glance then whispers, “If not of you… then who? I’m dancing. I’m holding a woman in my arms. I’ve looked into your eyes and…” His voice fades once again.

She gives him a brief squeeze, “Don’t be afraid, please. I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods, “I think I do. I think I finally do… but it’s hard to overcome a lifetime of denial and restraint. I know I can trust you with anything except, perhaps, stories of nuns in my youth.”

She is caught unawares by this and claps a hand over her eyes, “Oh! Oh! I thought you’d forgiven me but you haven’t, have you? I apologize again for that. I’ll never do it again, I promise you.”

“I know. You’re just so much fun to wind up sometimes. I enjoy all our spats, you know.”

She laughs against his shoulder, “I’m so happy to hear that. Sometimes I worry that our fights will push you away when actually…” Now her voice fades.

He tightens his grip, “Yes? You actually what?”

“I actually want to pull you in closer.”

“Like this?”

She swallows, “Yes, just like this. Even closer.”

“Like this?” his voice is deepening, getting husky.

The room is very dim, the music very hypnotic, the crowd very thick. They are an anonymous couple in the twilight. They dance for a long time, the songs seguing one into the other without a break which suits them just fine. They don’t want a break.

“You feel so good,” she whispers just as he murmurs “Am I dreaming this?”

They pull apart to regard one another in silence and she sees his uncertainty for what it truly is… not doubt of her but of himself. _He needs to be sure,_ she thinks. _He’s been burnt too many times. I have to tell him. How to do it? What do I say?_

“I meant it, you know,” she hears herself say.

“What?”

She reaches up and whispers against his cheek, so close, so warm, so almost hers, “I can’t… I couldn’t… help falling in love with you. Those are song lyrics but the words are true. Just so you know. Just so you can think it over properly.”  
END – part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The song is "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You", probably the Elvis version**


	19. I Can't Help... part 2 of 2

Part 2 of 2  
He ducks his forehead to press against hers, “Oh, Camille, I don’t have to think it over, I already know. I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for so long now. Your words only breached the dam that was holding my secret in check. I’m still not sure if I’m awake or not. I’ve danced with you so many times in my dreams.”

She can’t help it, his Englishness inflames her Frenchness. She gives him a saucy look and whispers, “Just dance?” His nervous smile, averted eyes and blush tells her everything she needs to know. “I see,” she huffs happily. “In that case, shall we dance the night away? I’m perfectly happy to do just that unless…” She gives him another saucy look, “Unless there’s something else you’d rather do?”

His eyes rise slowly and he is very still, “Are you sure? This has been rather sudden and… I don’t want to jeopardize whatever tenuous understanding we’ve reached here. Are you really sure?” His eyes gleam, wide and anxious and hopeful.

She darts a quick look to his parted lips, “Oh, I’m sure… but only if you’re sure. Let’s step outside and find a nice quiet dark spot to test the waters a bit, OK? I don’t want to rush things and spoil it by pushing you farther than you’re willing to go.”

“Go?” he quavers, images of lofty cliffs and lips of volcano cauldrons surging through his head. 

She nods and begins leading him off the dance floor. No one gives them a second look as she parts the crowd. She is on a mission. The terrace doors loom, the secret night beckons, and his hand is firm in hers. She steps outs, glances around, sees they are alone, and draws him after her into the shadows.

Within moments they are kissing, a bit shyly at first but that doesn’t last long. Her helpless response to his nearness surprises him yet gives him courage. He gathers her up and the kiss goes from polite to white-hot in a flash. It is many minutes before she comes back to herself and tries to make sense of everything.

Yes, she is outside on the terrace. Yes, music is drifting out from the dance floor. Yes, her heart is pounding and her breathing is quick… because… yes, she has a man in her arms at long last and it’s finally the man she really wants. She closes her eyes in exultation and smiles into his lips as she realigns herself to his topography and dives back into her waking dream. 

They have drifted deeper into the shadows and are now surrounded by fragrant night flowers. Something tickles her cheek and she reaches up to brush it away. A bloom comes off in her hand. Her motion distracts him and they break apart most reluctantly.

“What is it?” he whispers, praying she hasn’t come to her senses.

She shows him then smiles and tucks it behind his ear, “There, a pretty flower for a busy bee.”

His heart swells with relief as he removes the bloom and looks at it, “Night flowering jasmine, lovely odor, and it doesn’t use bees. It has to be a moth.” He tucks the flower behind her ear with growing confidence then smiles to see that stubborn strand is loose once more. 

He caresses it back into place just as she dares, “Which are you, the moth or the bee?”

He stills, his hand still resting against her temple as her question resonates down into his soul. So many images echo back up that he can’t sort through them all fast enough. As he processes his options, she begins to fear that she’s finally put him off somehow. She needn’t have worried. He gives up trying to be suave and debonair and settles for the truth, “Can’t I be both? One needs the light, the other works best in the dark. Both have but one function in this life according to the flower… and I…” He is stroking her hair and falters back into silence as if afraid to continue.

As much as she loves his touch, she can’t leave it there, “You… what? Richard?”

He smiles down at her then, his hand dropping to stroke her cheek, “I… I think I’m actually ready to take a chance… not that it’s much of a chance since you’ve made your intentions quite clear… but, Camille, I have to ask… are you absolutely certain about this? My heart will surely break if… if…”

Her finger is atop his lips and he hushes. “Mon Coeur, mine will break too if you don’t profess undying love for me tonight.”

He takes her hand, kisses the finger and chuffs a shaky laugh, “Well, we can’t be having broken hearts all over the place, now can we? All right, if you’re sure then let’s wander back to my place and see…”

She slips in under his arm and snuggles into his side, relishing his warmth and sturdy presence, “And what shall we see, hmm?” They glide down the stairs in perfect lock-step, almost as if they have been practicing in their dreams. 

His shy grin gleams ghostly for a moment before he replies, “To see whether I’m a bee or a moth.” She shivers and he feels it with awakening delight. 

“Oh, Richard,” she says low, “I really hope you can be both. This flower is ready… SO ready. Tell me, though, how does the flower capture the bee moth? Keep it forever?”

He laughs quietly, marveling at how bright her eyes are in the faint starlight, “It doesn’t. The bee or moth must choose… and I do, I choose you, Camille. Can you be content with that, do you think?”

His little house is coming into view and not soon enough for her liking! She speeds up her pace a bit. By the time they reach his veranda, she is walking backwards and pulling him up behind her, “Oh, hurry, hurry! I’m going to fly apart at the seams if you don’t…”

He stills outside the door, “Don’t fret, I will, I promise... but do YOU promise to stay? Will you be here in the morning and every morning after that? This is never a one-night stand, Camille, never for me. I’m serious…” he frowns, worried again “… maybe TOO serious, which could explain why I’m still alone.”

She nods madly, “Yes! Yes! Yes! I promise anything! I’ll sign anything! I need you in my life and nothing you can say will make me change my mind.”

He cocks his head at this and thinks for a moment, “Nothing?”

She hears his thoughtful tone and freezes in sudden dread, “Oh, no! You aren’t going to tell me you’re a bigamist with dozens of love-children scattered all over England, are you?”

He is shaken out of whatever fugue has captured him, “What? NO! What on earth…?”

Now she gathers up a double handful of woolen lapel and hisses low, “Or here on the island?”

He sees the look in her eye and quickly saves himself from a merciless grilling, “No, definitely not.”

She relaxes a fraction, “Well, what then? What’s your deep dark secret that will scare me off?”

He opens the door at his back, “You are, Camille, you’re my deep dark secret.” As he draws her inside, he adds, “And unless my dream-Camille is totally out of the pitch, that’s no small beer.”

She laughs, “I have no idea what you just tried to say but I’ll tell you something that might make you change YOUR mind…”

The door is closed behind them and he is reaching to turn on a small lamp, “What’s that?”

“Your dream-Camille is about to meet the nightmare-Camille. Think you can handle that?” 

When he turns to her in surprise, he sees her eyes are whirling. He swallows then nods, “Oh. Um, do you come with a Driver’s Manual, by chance?” She slowly shakes her head and starts backing him up. 

When his back hits the bedspread, she pauses just long enough to pull her top off and shag up her hair into a turbulent mass, “No manual, I’m afraid. However, I can shift gears like magic,” and she swoops down to take him for the ride of his life… 

… for the rest of his life.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **’MystradeTookSiegeOfMyHeart’ asked for the flower scene over 2 ½ years ago. I can’t believe it took this long to deliver… but a good idea never fades… so, thanks, MTSOMH. I hope you’re still out there.**


	20. Professional Help - part 1 of 2

Professional Help  
Part 1 of 2  
Richard Poole has ordered a CD. Which isn’t unusual nor suspicious in any way… except he used an assumed name… at the library… on a ‘For Public Use’ computer. 

When it arrives several weeks later, he goes to pick it up. Also not unusual or suspicious… except he slinks in through a side door… to his secret mailbox at the post office… and hides it under his jacket.

He feels as if all eyes are on him as he skulks home by a circuitous way and doesn’t relax until all his windows and doors are locked and bolted. Once secure, he unwraps his treasure and stands looking down at it sitting so innocuously upon his desktop. He sighs with hope and reads the title.

“How to Impress Women and Make your Dream Girl Fall in Love with You” (a real steal at $29.99 US).

He picks it up and turns it over, reading the jacket notes with rising excitement. _Oh, yes! This will help me no end! I’m sure to get her attention NOW!_ He puts the jewel-case back down, goes into his little kitchen to brew a calming pot of tea then brings it back with him as he begins his tutelage.

He pours his first cup, lines up pencils, eraser, sharpener, paper, post-it notes, tape, and scissors. He thinks for a moment then goes to fetch an extra handkerchief to add to his supplies. He takes a sip of tea and squares his shoulders. He is fortified. He is ready. He pops in the CD and sits back to learn everything he needs to know in order to change his future. 

Step 1 – Find Your Dream Girl  
_Well,_ he thinks smugly, _no sense in listening to this chapter, I’ve already found her._ He scoffs silently, feeling sorry for all those millions of clueless men out there in the world that didn’t have the slightest inkling of their dream girl’s identity. _How lucky I am to already know. Not that I knew at first, oh no, that little nugget of intel had been hard won. Oh yes, all the fights, all the sullen silences, all the French swear-words, all the bent and ruined extendable pointers, it had been a hard lesson._

He rubs his upper left chest absently where a stiff little finger had dagged him so cruelly during their first case together. _That was my first sign,_ he muses, _my first clue. She stabbed me with that insubordinate little digit and I stared back at her whirling mad eyes in utter astonishment. Instead of tearing a strip off her like I should have, I just looked down into her exquisite face and fell head over heels in love!_

He snorts as he fast-forwarded through Step 1, _Not that I knew it was love at the time. No, I merely thought she was a hell-cat and I couldn’t wait to escape back to England. How fortunate for me that events conspired to thwart me at every turn and I was kept prisoner until I learned the truth._

Step 2 – How To Get Her Attention  
He listens to the entire chapter with mild alarm. _I tried all that! Well, some of it. I did every single one of those romantic gestures! Well, a few. And she totally ignored me! I can’t wine and dine her because that would entail… wining and dining… out in public… with witnesses! Flowers? Oh, I certainly can’t be expected to do that. People would SEE me! See the FLOWERS! But dancing? I tried that. Well, a bit. Surely, our dance at Solly’s wake counts?_

**[No,]** his little inner voice says rather suddenly (and not a bit rudely), **[no, that didn’t count at all.]**

He stiffens, pencil stilling on the page, not as alone as he thought after all, “What? Why not?”

**[Because you turned lily-livered after only 3 steps and ran off the dance floor, remember?]**

He slumps, “Oh, yeah, I did, I was a bit of a git, wasn’t I?” Then he sits back up and declares, “But I’m much better now and I’m sure she understood my intent.”

**[??!!]**

"No need to get snarky,” he grumps as he writes down the information on how to order another CD titled “How to Get Her Attention” for the low, low price of $39.99 US. “OK,” he sighs, putting down his pencil, “let’s move on.” He listens carefully, hears no more inner commentary, and continues.

Step 3 – Buy Her Expensive Gifts  
He listens to this with disbelief. _How in god’s name am I to buy intimate apparel without knowing…?_ His brain cramps up and the thought dies. Then he scoffs. _Furs? Oh, yes, that will go over gang-busters here in the tropics. Fast car? Where will she drive it? Jewelry? She can’t wear it on the job and it would definitely interfere with her after-work activities - what bauble goes best with Capri pants, I wonder? Champagne? She’s a rum and paper umbrella kinda girl, especially if it can be set on fire!_

He groans. _None of this applies! She’s almost feral, a primitive force of nature. A French force of nature, true, but still an untamed tidal wave that swamps me daily!_ Here his courage almost fails him until he remembers how wonderful it feels to be swamped daily. He takes a deep shaky breath and soldiers on.

Step 4 – How To Beat Out All Your Rivals  
He listens to this with growing abject hopelessness. _Her blind dates! All those bloody, young, virile, handsome, chiseled, Maman-approved blind dates!!_ He sinks his head into his hands and despairs. He’d forgotten about all the many, many men lining up for her attention! None of Step 4 applied to him. He can’t counter with more money, more presents, more prestige and laud and honour! All he has to offer is himself.

He is reaching for the Eject button when a stray thought stops him. _Yes, all those blinds dates… which she constantly complains about! ‘This one was too boring. That one was too conceited. The other one was a jerk. Every single one of them wanted only one thing!’_ He blushes faintly to think it but he really can’t blame them, now can he, when he wants the same thing too? _Except,_ he hastily adds, _MY motives are purely for her own good! Yes! She needs a good man… a good man that will never leave her… and I’M that man. I just have to make her see it. See it and believe it. See it, believe it, and accept it… before she makes a mistake and settles for second best!_ He is now writing down the information on yet another CD, “How to Overcome Your Rivals” ($49.99 US), and his resolve firms again.

Step 5 – Take Her On a Romantic Getaway  
He blushes all the way through this Step as there are various scripts to follow depending on many variables that the CD can’t go into now but it is all available for a mere $59.99 US (just follow these instructions). He jots it down but knows in his heart of hearts that he will NEVER get up the nerve to try anything so bold! Not HIM! Not with HER!

 **[God,]** his little voice pipes up, **[how will you ever get through your honeym…?]**

Richard jumps in his seat and dials the CD volume WAY up.

Step 6 – Capture Her With Your Romantic Skills  
Richard has to cover his eyes to listen to this Step and blindly writes down the information on ordering this CD for only $89.99 US. His little voice is trying to tell him something (well, blaring, if you must know) but he is drowning it out by listening to the CD then trying to drown out the CD by reciting Latin verbs in a rushed whisper. It’s a bit of a jumble in his head but he makes it all the way through Step 6 without actually needing a cold shower.

Step 7 – Marry Her And Live Happily Ever After  
He sits very still, pencil in hand, notes piled neatly in front of himself, and knows it is hopeless. If he can’t achieve Steps 2-6 then how is he to reach Step 7? He lays down his pencil, looks at his cold tea, and just knows he is going to die alone and unloved then probably be eaten by an Alsatian.

There is a brief flash and Harry is sitting atop his desk, cocking his tiny head and looking up for all the world like a good friend trying to cheer him up. “Thanks, Harry,” he mutters, “but it’s no good. I wasted $29.99 US on this useless CD and even if I DID spend…” he tots it up quickly in his head, “… another $239.96 US to get the rest of the collection, I’m no closer to winning her to my side than I was before.”

He sinks onto his desktop, a puddle at lowest ebb. If masculinity was a light, he would be a dark little blot right now. If testosterone was a sound, he would be ringing silence. If confidence was a smell…

And THAT’S when his back door slams open, almost seizing his heart, as a French tidal wave rolls in, leaps the steps, and slams a bottle onto the desk beside his defeated head, all the while shaking his shoulder and roaring, “Look what Maman found in a back cupboard this morning!”

END – part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *’Eaten by an Alsatian’ – Bridget Jones. The whole smarmy voice-lesson thing – Walt Disney first and the Kevin Kline movie ‘In and Out’ second*  
> **If you’re too young to remember Walt Disney, ask me. Better yet, ask you parents**


	21. Professional Help - part 2 of 2

Part 2 of 2  
It is a very old bottle of fine scotch, covered in dust with an actual cobweb fluttering on one shoulder. She rushes back down into the kitchen for 2 glasses, glugs out two horse-choking drams, scoffs the one and practically pours the other down his throat. It burns like fire, tastes like lava, and sets off a bomb in his belly that is surprising in its comfortable glow. As he chokes and gasps, she is pouring them each a second quaff before the fumes have cleared his lungs enough for him to speak.

“Camille, for god’s sake, don’t poison me!” he finally manages in a raspy croak. She stares at him for a moment then downs both glasses herself in quick succession. His eyelids fly up in admiration. _My god, she’s a law unto herself! With a cast-iron stomach!_ He watches her throat work and frowns. Something about her behaviour seems a little off…

His inner voice storms back, **[A LITTLE off? It’s a good thing the ambulance is on your speed-dial!!]**

He cocks his head, eyes her narrowly. _No, no, I’m sure she can handle her liquor. No, this is something else. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is almost desperate about something… that she’s reached fever pitch and now she’s ready to take the bull by the horns. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!_

She slams down her glass and looks right at him, “Richard, I’ve come to a decision! I must grab the bull! It’s all speed ahead and curse the… oooo, what’s this?” She’s spotted the CD case that he wasn’t quick enough to hide. He makes a grab for it but she whisks it out of his reach. He shrivels up in mortification as she reads the title, out loud, very slowly, with great solemnity, then turns to give him a most owlish stare. She slaps the jewel-case down with a laugh, “Seven Steps, hey? Why not follow MY program instead? It’s shorter.”

He frowns, “Your program? Why? It hasn’t done you any good, has it? All those blind dates and…”

She waves both hands manically, “No, no, no, forget the blind dates, I have! I finally figured it out last night! I know what I’m doing wrong! Why I’m still single! And today is the day I finally do something about it!!”

He sits forward in sudden hope, “Oh, yeah? Care to share?” _Maybe she can actually help without knowing it? Maybe if I listen closely, she will tell me what I so desperately need to know? Please?_

She hunkers down beside him, takes his hands, and looks him squarely in the eye, “OK, you ready?” 

He nods, not even registering how warm and accepting her hands are. He looks deep into her eyes, her molten passionate eyes, so close, so knowing, and concentrates with his whole being. Whatever she says next will be etched on his soul and could decide his fate forevermore. 

She takes a deep breath, squeezes his hands, and whispers, “Good. OK. Here it is. One – Find Him. Two - Know Him. Three – Blind-side Him. Four – Shag Him Stupid. Five – Put A Ring Through His Nose (or whatever) And Enjoy The Blazes Out Of Him.” She sits back on her heels and sighs with satisfaction then sees the shocked look on his face, “OK, OK, step 5 was a bit crude, that might have been the scotch talking. Um, how about… ‘Keep Him Happy For The Rest Of His Life’ instead?”

He waits a moment or two then sits back with a groan, “That’s IT? That’s your big plan?! It sounds like a lunatic’s idea of romance! How is that supposed to work? It doesn’t make any sense!”

She smiles, drops to her knees and slowly raises herself to his eye-level, still holding his hands, “Oh, it makes a little bit of sense if you remember that I AM a lunatic. Last night I realized that I’ve already achieved Steps 1 and 2 without knowing it! And now I’m about to embark on Step 3. With your help.”

He spends a few moments translating all this into his version of English then his heart lurches in his chest and he knows his fate is sealed and his doom is now cast in stone. “Oh,” he quavers, “I see. Well, congratulations, I hope you two will be very happy.” He tries to stand, to turn away, to hide his betrayed face. He would have, too… except she still has his hands and she isn’t letting go.

She pulls him firmly back into his chair, “Just a minute, Detective Inspector, you haven’t allowed me to proceed to Step 3 yet, how ungentlemanly of you.” 

He thumps back into place, still dismayed but now also puzzled. Her voice is gleeful but a bit off-kilter. If he didn’t know better, he would think she’s feeling a bit nervous. He licks his lips, “Oh? Um, how do I figure in all this?” A horrible thought blasts into his head and he pales terribly, “Oh, no, Camille! Surely you don’t expect MY help in wooing your chosen target?!”

Her careful scrutiny of his face is interrupted by a surprised laugh, “What?”

He is trying to get to his feet again, his head shaking jerkily from side to side, “Because I can’t do that! I simply can’t… you’ll have to… no, no, it can’t be done,” but is jerked back down into his chair by a thoroughly alarming show of feminine strength. He also notices that she has invaded his personal space; somehow she has inched practically between his knees. His temperature flares but he tries to remain calm so he quirks bossy eyebrows at her, demanding an explanation. 

She seems to find this endearingly funny, “No, you idiot, I don’t expect you to help woo him. I expect you to succumb!” She bites her lip and waits.

His frown flies off his face, “Su… succumb?” White noise drowns out his hearing. Whirling black dots push into his peripheral vision. All he can clearly see and hear is her, Camille, kneeling at his feet.

She leans in then, in slo-mo, and kisses his slack lips. 

He jerks in shock but her grip is mighty, plus her hands have run up his arms to catch him by the shoulders. His brain gives another frantic stutter but fails to kick-start. 

She pulls away slightly, watching him very carefully, enunciating slowly and clearly, “This is Step 3. Blind-side him. Tell me, Detective Inspector, are you blind-sided?”

Dumbly, he nods.

“Good. How much time do you need to process the situation before I can move on to Step 4?”

His brain re-spools their entire conversation to the salient point and his heightened temperature spikes into the volcanic. This time he does surge to his feet. He stands over her, watching her slowly uncoil…

… **[like a sleek snake]** the little voice hisses in surprise…

… to stand before him like a supplicant.

 _Hush,_ he chides the voice absently, _go away, I’m busy here._

And he IS busy! He’s busy pulling her to himself. He’s busy meeting her ardent embrace with one of his own. He is busy kissing her like he really means it and she is busy returning it like she really needs it. He is busy backing her up and she is busy pulling him. 

After that, they are both busy at the same time… for a long time.

Later  
There is a murmur heard from somewhere beneath the bed linens, “Best $29.99 I ever spent…”

END


	22. Picture Perfect - part 1 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t have Valentine’s Day 2021 pass unremarked… and I need a bit of a boost to get over a DiP episode I haven’t even SEEN yet but is making people cry (if you believe Twitter). This is my version or vision or whatever and where I prefer to dwell. No matter what others say it’s all just stories in the end.

Part 1 of 6  
Its early days in the New Year yet - but not SO early that February isn’t rearing its ugly head once more - the 14th, to be precise – the dreaded Valentine’s Day! When Camille tore December off her kitchen calendar 3 weeks ago, there had been a huge red heart-shaped post-it note right in her face. She’d blinked at it for a second or two before remembering sticking it there herself in a drunken fit of determination sometime after The Big Romantic Christmas Party that had never materialized.

She’d groaned and her shoulders had slumped. _Well, yes, the Christmas party HAD happened all right… but without the presence of a certain ‘suit’ to make it the big romantic evening that I’d hoped for. Turns out Harry looked ‘peaky’ that evening so Richard sat up reading “A Christmas Carol’ to him until almost midnight... and by then it was surely too late to come a-calling, right?_

“Right,” she had muttered in frustrated memory, “and WAY too late for a friendly stroll on the beach with an even friendlier snog under the stars! I squeezed myself into the Island version of ‘a little black dress’ for nothing! All my cleverly laid plans ruined again!” She had pulled down the post-it and stared at it, growling, “OK, OK, this Valentine’s is gonna be THE Valentine’s. I can’t wait any longer.” 

But she HAD to wait. Wooing a man of this magnitude (and/or density, take your pick) requires finesse and she has been finessing like mad ever since, trying to work up a fool-proof plan of action. Now here it is three weeks later… and nothing. He remains as distant as the horizon and she is still treading water.

She pours her first coffee and stares out the window, visions of hearts and flowers dancing in her head but not for long. _Hearts and flowers might work on most men but MY quarry is about as skittish as he can be and still exist. Heck, he’s almost mythic! A bachelor Chief of Police? Trapped on an island of outrageous island women and randy tourists?! Yeah, right! How much longer can he hold out under the constant pressure of relentless female scrutiny?_ She snorts. _Well, judging by how he’s managed to dodge every single one of MY romantic attempts, he’s gonna hold out forever! No, I need something sure-fire, iron-clad, gold-plated. Something that even HE can’t escape. But what?_

Yes, but what? That’s the million dollar question. What will it take to finally get his attention? Short of a tranquilizer gun and a big net, that is? This question dogs her all through her morning routine and it isn’t until she’s trudging to work that she gets an idea. Normally she doesn’t look in the shop windows but today she dawdles, blanking her mind and hoping like mad some miracle suggests itself. 

She studies the flower shop display. _Nope. I’d probably pick the wrong flowers and the wrong colours and send him a hopelessly confused message in Victorian ‘flower-speak’ about his ties or his shoes or his window treatments. No, flowers are out._ She sighs, _But I wouldn’t mind getting a bunch of roses for once and not on the day AFTER Valentine’s at 50% off! Oh, yeah, THAT boyfriend had been a REAL winner! What a cheap-skate! Better to get no flowers at all than tired worn-out ones._

She pauses briefly at each window displaying intimate-wear then shakes her head. _There is no way in HELL Richard Poole could step into such an establishment let alone open his mouth and actually ask for something! Besides, how would he know my size or colour preferences? And I really don’t think he’s the sort of man to buy something stupid and itchy just to please his own libido, which is a blessing really as I’ve been given enough stiff lace panties to line a bird-cage over the years. Those boyfriends had been real losers too, inconsiderate egotistical puffed-up losers. What did I ever see in ANY of them?_

Now, the bakery, the bakery holds her attention briefly then she shakes her head some more. _No, the only thing I want here is a wedding cake but the chances are pretty slim and getting slimmer every day. Come on, Camille, think! What to do? What to do?_

She is racking her brains so assiduously that she almost walks right past the photography shop but she slowly comes to a stop, cocks her head, then backs up to peer in at whatever had caught her eye. She studies the window for several seconds before she spots it. There, in the corner, sits a discrete small card bearing a simple message…

_**‘Ladies, is your man shy? Why not show him what he needs to see? Inquire within.’** _

Camille stares at this for a long time, running the words through her head over and over again. Finally, she realizes that someone in authority needs to check on this - and she sure isn’t going to let HIM do it! _I’m right here, right now, so I am going to do it!_ She straightens her shoulders, takes a deep breath, squares up her determined little chin, and palms the door open with force, doing her ‘bull in a china shop’ impression to perfection.

Half an hour later she sits at her desk, working away like a good little Detective Sergeant while an appointment card burns a hole in the bottom of her purse. She changes her mind a hundred times that day. Every time he annoys her, she swears she will not do it. Every time he charms her, she swears she WILL do it. Every time he confuses her, she simply swears. By the end of the day she is an emotional wreck and doesn’t know what to think.

Finally, after he leaves for the day, she goes over to stare down at his desk. With a deep sigh, she pulls her lucky Caribbean penny out of a pocket and flips it. She gazes down at it laying there so shiny and innocent before picking it up and flipping it again. And again. Ten flips done, she re-pockets the coin with a worried frown. _What are the odds of THAT happening? How do you get ten ‘heads’ in a row?_

_But, OK, the fates have spoken. I’ll do it. I’ll do it but with the intention of MAYBE giving it to him. Yes. Maybe. And even if I never give it to him… even if it sits on my dresser for the next 30 years… it will be a constant and painful reminder of what COULD be but will NEVER be if I don’t do something about it! Yes, perhaps this is exactly what I need to give me courage!_

She closes up the station with firm resolve. _Tomorrow is my day off. The appointment is for 1pm. I can go through all the motions and decide later. No one need ever know. It will be my little secret. Yes. Appointment first. Decision later. Maybe MUCH later. Maybe never._

As she descends the steps, she smiles. _Who knows? It might be fun... and each time we have a fight, I can go home and stare at the photo and curse the day I ever fell in love with an impossible man._

And it IS fun. More fun than she expected. At first she is hesitant but a glass of wine settles her nerves. Then she’s been a bit shy but a second glass takes care of that. By the third glass she is happy and daring and laughing with feminine glee. 

Oh, yes, if THIS doesn’t get his attention, nothing will! It might also kill him and/or make him go up in smoke. As she leaves the shop, she shoves the Waiver and Terms of Agreement into her purse where it joins all the other ignored detritus. All she can think of is the look on his face – IF and when he sees her gift. Lah, she’ll need her own camera out to capture it! Will he be pleased? Will he be insulted? Will he be incensed? She doesn’t know… but she still has time to think about it.  
End – part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am breaking my usual posting schedule in order to bring this tale of woe to you daily. Big (I hope) boffo ending will be on Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoy the ride.  
> Also, the odds of getting 10 'heads' in a row is 1:1,024. If my math is correct.


	23. Picture Perfect - part 2 of 6

Part 2 of 6  
Three days later, she comes into work to hear Dwayne laughing about something to Fidel while Richard frowns severely at both of them. At her entry, Dwayne swings away to his desk and Fidel does likewise. Both men studiously ignore her so she sidles over to Richard desk and whispers, “What’s up with those two? They’re acting awfully suspicious.”

Richard shuffles some papers then mutters back, “Oh, nothing of import. It’s just that Dwayne saw something in a window, a poster of some kind, and he was saying how lovely it was, that’s all. You know Dwayne; anything involving a pretty woman gets his attention.”

Ol’ ‘radar-ears’ Dwayne speaks right up, “She isn’t just pretty, Chief! I tol’ you, she’s beautiful, an angel, a goddess! I asked everybody on the street but nobody knows who she is. Or will admit it. I don’t blame ‘em, either. Iffn I had someone like that at home, I’d keep it a closely guarded secret too! All I can say is whoever gets that portrait is one lucky fella.”

A chill runs down Camille’s back as she turns to face Dwayne, “Portrait? You said it was a poster.”

Now Dwayne smiles a dreamy sort of smile, “Oh, yeah, it’s a portrait a’right. It’s a ‘boodwah’ shot to end all ‘boodwah’ shots, blown up big, with a sign on it offerin’ to do the same for other ladies. They was doin’ a brisk business, too. I hafta say, I hope I gets a few come February 14th.”

Behind her, a hesitant voice speaks up and another chill runs down her back, a big one, “Why? What happens on February 14th?”

She slowly pivots and pins him with a disbelieving eye. As he stares back at her like a stag at bay, she is saved from throttling him atop his own desk by Fidel who laughs chummily, “Oh, Chief, stop teasing. Everyone knows the 14th is Valentine’s Day. Even if we forget, the WOMEN make sure to remind us.”

Dwayne nods energetically, “Yes, aye, sometimes daily! Speakin’ of which, I’d better get my order in with Romeo. I need to start savin’ up now to pay for all those flowers.”

“Yes,” Fidel muses, “and I’d better make supper reservations and arrange a baby-sitter or I’ll be sleeping on the couch for sure.” He looks to his boss, “What about you, sir, got any plans?”

Camille is still studying her suit closely, which has not been lost on him as he is getting twitchier by the second. At Fidel’s question, he colours up rather spectacularly then hauls a pile of files to himself with a gruff, “This is a place of business, not a singles club, so let’s get some work done, shall we?”

Camille waits a moment or two longer, hoping against hope that he might have something private to say to her but his pen just scratches louder and louder and she finally turns away, defeated. She doesn’t see how he pales as his agonized eyes follow her all the way to her desk… but Dwayne does.

Dwayne stiffens as if shot, sits up with a bang, a shocked look on his face. Camille halts, Fidel turns around, and the Chief looks up. Dwayne gulps when he realizes he is the sole focus of the entire room so he clears his throat and croaks, “Uh, oh, sorry, I gotta Charlie horse.” He waits another moment then bolts for the front door, “I’m just… um, goin’ to walk it off, be back soon.” Everyone shrugs and goes back to work; one oblivious, one sorrowful, and one with anxiously beating heart.

Dwayne paces and scowls furiously. He’s had an epiphany and he doesn’t like it. His idea of romance is a bottle of wine, some cuddling, some laughs, and then moving on. _This whole one man/one woman idea – it just ain’t normal! Yet... Fidel seems happy, don’t he? And the Commissioner? And most of my aunties? Some unions can be good, hey? If so, then the Chief deserves a chance at happiness too, right? But with Ca-MILLE? Man, oh, man, how is THAT supposed to work?_ His pacing introspection is suddenly interrupted as Camille darts out the west door and makes for the stairs. 

“Where you goin’ in such a hurry? Was there a call?” he yells after her.

Her head whips around but she doesn’t stop moving, “Um, no, but there’s something I have to check on. I’ll be back in 10 minutes,” and she races off.

Dwayne watches her go then shakes his head and goes back inside. Fidel smiles and asks if he’s OK and he says he is so he sits down and puts his chin in his hand to watch his Chief. After about 30 seconds, the Chief is looking back but without actually looking up. _How does he do that?_ After another minute, the Chief slams down his pen and glares. Dwayne isn’t really surprised at the man’s vehemence. _The Chief don’t like people knowin’ his personal business._

“What is it, Officer Myers? Why are you staring at me? Why do people stare at me all the time?”

Before Dwayne can frame a reply, Fidel sits up and blurts out angrily, “Who stares at you, sir? People on the street? They must be criminals! Tell me who they are and I’ll teach them some manners!”

The Chief flinches at this, picks up his pen and begins to turn it in his fingers, “Well, no, not people on the street. Well, yes, but only SOME people on the street. Not always. Only sometimes. And here, sometimes here…”

Dwayne narrows his eyes, “How do you know people are starin’ at you? Do you catch them at it?”

His boss bites his lip, colours slightly, “Um, well, yes, quite often but sometimes it’s just a feeling.”

Fidel looks grim, “And who’s done it here at the station? I’ve never seen you threatened or insulted.”

His boss flicks cautious eyes up then down again, “Well, um, since you ask… Suzy Park…”

Dwayne frowns but Fidel breaks out in relieved laughter, “Oh, her! She wasn’t threatening or insulting you, sir, she was flirting! Flirting hard! And I have to say you handled it very professionally.”

Dwayne and Richard are staring at Fidel. Fidel sees this and stops laughing.

Dwayne lifts a tentative hand, points to his boss, “Suzy Park was… was flirtin’? Here? With the CHIEF?”

Richard lifts an equally tentative hand to his chest, “Me? Flirting? Ms. Park? With ME?”

Fidel breaks out in fresh laughter, sure that his leg is being pulled, “Yes! Oh, god, Dwayne, you should have seen her! I thought she was going to go right over his desk and…” but his laughter dies again at the look on his boss’s face.

Dwayne’s imagination isn’t up to the task, “And what, Fidel? Go over his desk and… what?”

Fidel can’t help noticing that the Chief looks just as alarmed as Dwayne does. He clears his throat and back-pedals, “Well, um, let’s just say that the Chief could have had a Valentine’s date no problem!”

“I could?” the Chief husks, looking more alarmed than ever… but… also… maybe a bit hopeful?

Fidel nods, “Oh, yes sir, definitely. BIG date, no problem. I wish Dwayne had seen it. He’d tell you.”

His boss sits back with a strangely gentle motion and puts both hands flat atop his desk, “Suzy Park, flirting, with ME, in front of a witness! How very odd. But, Fidel, how can you be certain? Maybe…?”

Dwayne shakes a finger suddenly, “Yes! An’ before HER was Megan Talbot! Now, you ain’t gonna sit there an’ try to tell us that SHE wasn’t flirtin’ with you, are you, Chief? ‘Cause if you do, I’m sorry, but I’ll hafta call you a liar, sir. An’ Camille told me Megan actually kissed you after the arrest. Is that true?”

Fidel’s eyes widen, “No! She didn’t!” He turns to his boss, “Did she?”

Both officers watch their chief flush deeply as he is forced to nod once, his lips pressed tight together, his eyes looking everywhere except at them.

Dwayne slaps his desk-top, “Hey, good on you, Chief! Now tell me, did you kiss back?”

Fidel is quick to jump in as the Chief squirms, “Dwayne! That’s no business of ours! The Chief is allowed a personal life and…”

Dwayne studies his boss with an expert eye, “Yeah, he is… but I don’t think he’s got one.” At his boss’s betrayed look he nods and decides to say something, “But you COULD have a private life, Chief,” he nods again, “Yes, sir, you could, if you really want. Think true now, is there no one who’s caught your fancy maybe? Someone you’d like to ask out but haven’t figured out how yet?”

Dwayne sees the shuttered panic flare up in his boss’s eyes and knows he’s hit a bulls-eye. He sits back with a sigh, “Well, sir, if you ever need a little advice, I’m here.” He gestures to Fidel, “And Fidel, too, a’course. He’s the ol’ married man an’ I’m sure he can help if you need him.” 

Fidel smiles nervous encouragement. Anything to help the Chief!

Dwayne crosses his arms and sees potential catastrophe looming.

Richard does a very good fish imitation then demands they all get back to work!  
END – part 2


	24. Picture Perfect - part 3 of 6

Part 3 of 6  
Camille jerks to a halt in front of the shop and groans. _There it is! Right in the window! A huge blow-up of me in the near all-together! Thank god for that silk shawl! Oh, why did I have that third glass of wine? And how could Dwayne not recognize…?_ She leans in, stares, _Oh, thank goodness!_ A lacy paper mask is across her upper face. She sighs in thankful relief then her eyes harden and she straightens up. _Right! Let’s get this sorted!_

She bangs the door open and starts yelling, “Porsche? Porsche, you get out here right now before I start breaking furniture!” There is a slight clattering noise from the back room and a middle-aged woman emerges dusting her hands, a big smile lighting up her face as she recognizes Camille.

“Ah! Here’s my golden goose! Thanks to you, girl, I’ve been busier ‘n ever. I’ve had a steady stream of wives and girlfriends in here ever since I put your portrait in the window. A lotta men are gonna be SOME surprised come Valentine’s, let me tell you. Why, Dwayne Myers ALONE is…”

Camille chops a curt hand and barks, “Never mind all that! Why is my picture in the window in the first place? I never gave you permission to use it. You didn’t even ask and now you have to take it down. Right now! This instant! Before he sees it!”

Porsche gives Camille a long complicated look. Finally she says, “Look, first of all, your portrait is probably the best I’ve ever done. I thought so at the time. It’s almost magical… and that’s why it’s in the window. Secondly, you DID give me permission. Don’t you remember those forms you signed?”

Camille jumps a bit, eyes darting down at her purse. Yes, she remembers the forms and no, she didn’t read them. Who reads those things? With a small pang she knows who WOULD read them but he isn’t here right now, is he? Her head shoots up. _He’s not here right now but, oh, god, what if he gets curious and decides to go for a walk? What if he’s…!??_ She whirls madly and pulls the poster off its easel.

“Hey!” Porsche blurts, reaching for her handiwork, “That’s my property. And so what if ‘HE’ sees it? I put a mask on it so no one will know it’s you. No one in a million years.”

“Oh, yeah?” Camille quavers, “Well, he recognized the back of my head in a tiny group shot with 29 other people who were all facing the camera except for me!” At Porsche’s quizzical look, Camille nods fiercely, “So, yes! If he sees it, he’ll know it’s me! Don’t ask me how he does it, he just does.”

Porsche taps a foot, cocks her head, “OK, now I’m curious. Who is this mystery man you did the portrait for but are so scared he’ll recognize you? And what sort of man could do that anyway? He’d have to be something special, something bizarre, something…” Her words stop and her eyes begin to shine with dawning admiration, “No! Oh, no, not possible. HIM!? Him on the hill? Oh, girl, you got NERVE!”

Camille clutches the poster and pushes her way to the back of the shop, taking Porsche with her, eyes snapping, “Never you mind WHO he is! He just IS!! And he must never see this. Never! Promise me!” 

Porsche looks confused, taken aback by Camille’s vehemence, “OK, but… aren’t you giving him…?”

Camille’s stiff posture holds for a moment then she slumps with a groan and mumbles, “I haven’t decided yet. You don’t know him! He’s impossible! I haven’t the faintest clue what he really thinks of me. I probably won’t give it to him. It’ll just gather dust on my dresser and torment me into my spinsterhood for being a coward!”

Porsche’s eyebrows go up, “Girl, you give him this and I guarantee you’ll know pretty damn fast what he thinks of you.” She eyes the poster and nods, “Yep, I can pretty much gold-stamp promise you that.”

Camille slips the poster behind the counter and drops her face into her hands, “Oh!! I simply can’t take the chance! I’ll never give it to him. Never.” She straightens up, shakes herself then says, “I have to get back to the station.” She points a stern finger, “And you keep that thing out of sight, do you hear me? If I lose my job over this then I’ll know who to blame, won’t I?” With a final glare, she storms out.

Porsche stares after her for several moments then murmurs, “Well, I don’t think it will really be MY fault. I think it will be up to you and that strange man on the hill. Hmm, what to do, what to do?” The sound of her door-bell makes her look up and she smiles, “Dwayne Myers! What brings YOU here?”

It is indeed Dwayne, looking puzzled and a little disappointed, “I come to ask you somethin’ but, hey, where’s that poster?”

Porsche replies smoothly, “It’s retired. It’s done its job. I’m booked solid. It really caught the imagination of a lotta women.”

“Oh,” Dwayne grouses then brightens, “any idea if I’m gettin’ one?”

Porsche bursts out laughing, “One? Dwayne Myers, you’re gettin’ a whole BUNCH… but I have to tell you, you won’t be gettin’ THAT particular one. It’s spoken for. Pretty firmly, I might add.”

Dwayne frowns then grins, “Oh, well, it was just a thought. Someone like that ain’t meant for mere men like myself. No, my little shutterbug, I come to ask… do you do men too?” 

Half an hour later, Dwayne saunters cockily back into the station with a merry whistle on his lips. 

Fidel looks up, recognizing the signs, “Ho, Dwayne, what’s up with you? Got a hot date for tonight?”

Dwayne drops his hat onto his desk and throws himself into his chair with élan. He crosses his arms behind his head and flutes, “You might say that, Fidel. I went back to the photo studio. The poster is gone but I decided to sit for a portrait of my own.” He is once more the focus of male attention, Camille being gone to pick up the lunch order from her Maman. 

Fidel is the first to speak, “Um, a portrait? Like the one you described this morning?”

Dwayne grins, “Oh, yeah, that photographer is a genius at bringin’ out the ‘inner beauty’ of the subject. I’m havin’ a dozen printed up. It’s sure to be a hot commodity on the street come Valentine’s.”

Fidel smiles, “Um, Juliet called to tell me SHE’S having one done.”

Now the Chief speaks up even if it does sound a trifle strangled, “Juliet? She is? Er…”

Fidel whirls and makes calming gestures, “Oh, no, Chief, not like that! It’ll be her and Rosie… mother and child… with stuffed animals and flowers and such.”

His boss huffs a breath, “Well, whew, that’s good, not that I don’t think Juliet is a beautiful woman…”

Fidel smiles, “That’s OK, sir, I know what you mean. Rosie is very excited about it.”

Dwayne muses, “Too bad about that poster, though, it was a doozy, pulled in a lot of business, I’m told.”

“Yes,” Richard sighs, “from all that you’ve said, I’m almost sad I missed it. Still, people’s private affairs should stay private, don’t you think?”

Dwayne sits up, “Not necessarily, Chief.” He whips out his cell phone, “I, um, might have a shot of it here, I just couldn’t resist, me. It don’t do her justice but…” He rises and goes to Richard’s desk, Fidel following in his wake. All three men put their heads together and peer down at the tiny image as Dwayne says, “All I can say is… I hope MY lady friends show a lot more…”

There is a solid moment of utter silence… then the Chief slams back into his chair, his face white. His eyelids actually flutter as his teeth clench and he stiffens up into a pretty good imitation of driftwood.

Dwayne jerks his phone back as Fidel grabs a suited arm, “Chief! Chief! Are you OK? What’s wrong?” but the Chief doesn’t answer, he’s shivering and making small noises deep in his throat. Fidel sinks to one knee while Dwayne dashes to the fridge for some cold water. Together they manage to get a few sips into their boss as Fidel switches on the little desk fan and Dwayne wafts a file folder rapidly. 

After a minute, the man seems to revive enough to sit up and nod, his colour coming back. “Um, sorry, gentleman, thank you, I’m… I’m alright now, thank you. I… I don’t know what came over me.” 

Dwayne looks down at his phone, “You sure? You was OK until I showed you this.” He looks up, dawning realization in his eyes, “Say! Do you know who this is? You do, don’t you?”

Richard’s face pales once more, “Um, no! Of course not! How can you expect me to…?”

Dwayne frowns, “How? ‘Cause you do stuff like this alla time, knowin’ things you shouldn’t. It’s like a magic trick or somethin’.” He holds out the phone, “You sure you don’t know her?”

Richard’s eyes dart about like flitting birds, “I can tell you she is obviously a person of high morals and good taste who, although she may have taken a slight misstep in judgement with this photo, would NEVER ‘show more’ as you so crudely stated.”

Dwayne stares at the tiny image in his hand, “You kin tell that, even though you got no clue who she is?”

Richard declares with determination, “Even though I have no clue as to who she is,” and he holds this manner as Camille re-enters the station, lunch bags in hand. Fortunately, Dwayne then dashes across the room  
to claim his portion and misses seeing the hot blush that washes across his boss’s cheeks. 

By the time Camille brings his lunch to him, Richard is calm and collected once more, if slightly paler than usual. He gestures with his pen without looking up, “Just leave it there, will you?” As she walks away, he murmurs, “Thank you, Detective Sergeant,” and doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day.  
End – part 3


	25. Picture Perfect - part 4 of 6

Part 4 of 6  
Its days later and Camille is still wrestling with herself, so conflicted that she doesn’t even notice his studious avoidance of all things Bordey. Finally, she just has to try to find out what he’s thinking… or might be thinking… or might be coaxed into thinking… whatEVER! With enough time and some very subtle machinations, she just might pull off a miracle! You never know. Hail Mary. It was worth a shot.

When the other officers leave on patrol, she fortifies herself with an extra strong coffee and sidles up to his desk, sliding into his ‘interview’ chair, and waits for him to notice her. She’s not sure but she suspects he has 360 degree peripheral vision… if not actual eyes in the back of his head… so she is given a hard clue when he pretends not to see her. She solves this by taking an extra loud slurp of coffee and is rewarded by him swinging his head up and fixing her with baleful eyes.

“Yes, Sergeant?” he monotones aggressively.

She hunches her shoulders and looks down into her mug, biting her lip. _Whoo, boy! He’s pissed about something! That’s going to make this whole conversation even harder to have, maybe impossible._ She stands up, “Um, OK, maybe now’s not a good time. You’re obviously busy and…”

He lays down his pen and grits out, “And YOU obviously have something on your mind. Come on, Sergeant, spit it out, you’ll feel better once you confess.”

She sinks back down, eyes worried, “Confess? You think… you think I have something to… to… confess?” She gulps. _Does he know? Did he find out somehow? Did Porsche blab? Do I need to kill Dwayne?_

He frowns massively, lacing his fine-boned hands atop his desk, “Well, don’t you?”

She dithers. _What to do? Do I tell him? What is he thinking? Are we even on the same page? How do I ferret out his thoughts without giving myself away?_ Her mind is whirling and she hesitates just long enough for him to lose patience (not that he has that much stored up. Insomnia, you know).

He slaps his desk top, making her jump, and growls with eye-watering exactitude, “If this has anything to do about that poster that is the evident talk of the town then I must remind you of ‘The Policing Code of Conduct’ which CLEARLY states…”

Her eyes flash to his, hot meeting cold, and she growls back, “Don’t you DARE recite ‘The Code’ to me! That poster was as much a surprise to me as it was to…” She falters, gives him a questioning look, “How did you manage to see it anyway? I rushed right down there to yank it out of the window and give the photographer a piece of my mind!”

He huffs icily, “Oh, you did, did you? Well, a piece of your mind was about all you had left to GIVE, wasn’t it?” If he were any more stiff-lipped he’d be hissing. He is, as Camille so rightly surmised, pissed. More than that, he is HIGHLY pissed! Even worse, he is floundering in anger, in betrayal, in loss. Still, he manages to keep everything off his face. Or so he thinks.

Her scalp tightens as her highly trained senses begin to tingle. _He’s trying to sound angry and professional but I detect… jealously! Oh dear god, can it be? Is he jealous?_ She keeps that last thought most seriously off HER face, shuffles through all her options and decides to go with rueful agreement, “I admit, the session got a bit more boisterous than I expected. The wine didn’t help.”

Now he seems to swell up as he actually DOES hiss, “He served you wine? He got you drunk and…?” Oh, jealousy doesn’t even enter into it now! He is incensed! 

She makes shushing motions, “No! Oh no, no, no, nothing like that. We just got… carried away, that’s all.” She doesn’t correct him about the gender mistake and is gratified to see him getting madder and hissier. Two spots of colour begin to faintly glow high on his cheekbones.

“So! You decide to doff your kit on a whim, betraying everything we stand for, and now you’re just going to casually give it away to whichever thing in pants you happen to fancy at the moment? Do I understand the situation correctly?” He couldn’t look more betrayed if he tried.

She sits back, studies him, which only seems to make him madder yet. Finally, she murmurs, “Well, that kind of depends on ‘the thing in pants’. He’s being rather difficult right now.”

He waves an irate hand, “Oh, just snog him, I’m sure he’ll come around.” He pushes himself back from the desk, glaring at her, “I must say, Sergeant, I am extremely disappointed in you. I thought you had more sense than this.”

She frowns, “Disappointed? Disappointed how? That I did the shoot… or I did it for someone you obviously don’t know about?”

His whole face freezes, even his eyes. Then he desperately glances away, “That’s not… that’s got nothing to… I mean…” He finally gets control of himself and grunts, “Who you give the photo to has nothing to do with this. It’s the principle of the thing.”

But now she leans forward, sensing a chink in his armor and lets her instincts ask the next question, “Would YOU like to receive such a photo?” She watches emotions flood across his face and tries to sort out what he’s thinking.

He’s thinking about Suzy Park and Megan Talbot and several other women who have made him nervous over the past year. _How would I feel if any of those women gave ME such a photo?_ He blanches. _Bloody awful… that’s how I’d feel. Because… because… none of those women excite me in the least! There’s only ONE woman who registers on my radar and…_ he blushes… _and she’s sitting right here in front of me taunting me with the impossible dream!_ He knows he has to say something, he has to deflect her; she’s watching him much too carefully. 

He clears his throat, “The chances of ANY woman giving me such a photo is vanishingly rare. Don’t try to deflect this necessary and totally vindicated discussion with wild speculation and pipe-dreams.”

She cocks her head, blinks, “Pipe-dreams? You don’t think there’s someone, maybe MORE than one, out there somewhere who sees you for who you really are? I’ve heard the gossip. I’ve seen women react to you. You’d have photos of all sorts coming your way if only you’d give us an EFFING clue!” She doesn’t mean to shout the last few words but she shouts them just the same.

Now he sits back and blinks, “What? And don’t you swear at me!” He is suddenly recalling an earlier conversation with his male officers and now he’s wondering if they were onto something after all.

She slaps a fist onto his desk top, interrupting his train of thought, “I didn’t swear! But I gotta say you make me feel like swearing most of the time! Here and everywhere, almost every day!”

Now he’s looking innocent, “Me? I make you feel like swearing? Well, what about you, hmm? I’m constantly lost around you! I never know what you’re thinking or feeling, not even when you tell me, because nothing you say ever makes any sense!” Now he’s shouting too.

Her head bobs as she chokes out, “Oh, I! I?!! I make no sense? What about you? You say one thing and mean another. You drive me crazy! Are you really so cold and machine-like? Or is there an actual live man hiding somewhere inside that suit?” She smiles in triumph. _There, that told him!_

He leans forward, both palms flat on the desk top, “You leave my suit out of this! My clothes have nothing to do with this discussion. I dress for the job and my responsibilities and…”

“Yeah!” she barks, “and you wear WAY too much! What you need is a session with the photographer to loosen you up a bit and then maybe you’d learn to enjoy Life instead of simply enduring it!” She hushes, biting her lip. His face is ashen. She looks away in despair. _Way to go, Bordey, now you’ve done it. So much for subtle seduction. He’s right. I’m just a bull in a china shop. Moo._

They sit for many moments, not looking at each other, then he murmurs, “A photo like that would only mean something if it came from a woman I esteemed, a woman I admired, a woman who… who… loved me and I loved in return. Since I have no such woman in my life there’s no need for you to mock me so cruelly, is there?”

She starts, “I’m not mocking you! I… I’m… I’m trying to understand you.”

He sits up then, a cold curtain drawing across his face, “Well, then, understand this, you’ve free to give your photo to whomever you like. Just don’t expect me to get involved unless the photo goes viral and your reputation and the reputation of this station is threatened. So, good luck on Valentine’s, not that you’ll need it. Dismissed.” He sweeps up his pen and goes completely blank.

She watches him work for several moments then has to give up. He’s closed down, shut off, slammed the door and turned off all the lights, no one home. She sighs tiredly and goes back to her desk. They don’t speak for the rest of the day.  
END – part 4


	26. Picture Perfect - part 5 of 6

Part 5 of 5  
Eventually, all the excitement dies down, the ‘Xs’ on Camille’s calendar add up to 44, February 14th dawns, and she marches into the station as if she’s going to her doom. The photo is in her purse but her mind is still see-sawing about its fate. Her stoicism proves to be for naught. He isn’t at his desk.

She starts, points, asks Dwayne, “Where is he? Isn’t he in today?”

Dwayne shrugs, “I dunno, he come in, took one look at my desk then marched right back out again. He’s been actin’ kinda funny all week, hey?”

Camille looks at Dwayne’s desk and sees several little bouquets with notes attached, most showing hearts and/or lip-stick kisses. She also sees half a dozen tastefully framed little photos that didn’t bear too close an inspection. _Man,_ she thinks, _they musta had more than 3 glasses of wine!_ She glances to Fidel’s desk where a lovely arrangement sits proudly alongside a new framed photo. She looks to her own desk where 2 red roses rest in a bud-vase, her mother’s annual reminder that time is a-wastin’, cherie!!! Then, slowly, she looks to HIS desk; spotless, neat, tidy, completely barren.

She slumps, suddenly hating this day more than she ever has in the past. _How cruel, to rub such a fine man’s face in the fact that he has no one in his life, that he’s alone, that he’s unloved and unlovable._ Then her pulse throbs and her fists tighten. _Except he ISN’T alone! He IS lovable! I love him! I can’t deny it one minute longer! I love him to death and back again and I have to tell him! Right now! I can’t let him spend one more day in misery – not if I can do something about it!_

She wheels on Dwayne, “Where did he go? You have to tell me!” She is surprised by the cool look Dwayne returns.

“Why? You got somethin’ important to tell him maybe?”

She grips her purse tightly, hears the rustle of the wrapping paper, “Maybe! And it’s none of your business. Now, answer the question.”

Dwayne nods, “OK, Sarge, don’t blow a fuse! I’m just glad you’re finally gonna do somethin’ about it, is all. It’s cruel lettin’ a good man suffer like that.”

She pauses in leaving, turns to look back, “Suffer? Who’s suffering? Other than me, I mean.”

Dwayne throws out an impatient hand, “The Chief, a’course, who else? He’s been eatin’ out his whole heart over this Valentine’s thing. He don’t know I know but I know. I didn’t mean to know but I can’t unknow it once I know, now can I?”

Camille advances, grabs a lapel, and twists, “Dwayne Myers, you tell me whatever it is you think you know and you tell me in plain English or so help me I will hurt you right here and right now!”

“Wow,” Dwayne mutters, “I don’t believe it, you got it bad as him! Rather, I DO believe but I’m surprised you hid it all this time. You really ARE an undercover ace.”

She twists harder, hissing, “Dwaaaaaaaaaayne?”

He pushes her fist off, “OK, OK, sheesh, I’ll tell you but you better not come up on him lookin’ like you look right now else he’ll swim back to England all on his own without no boat!” He dusts himself off and adds, “Sometimes he likes to sit in the shade of those trees out behind the library, you know? Where the breezes funnel through the gap to the beach? It’s quiet an’ private. Best spot for you two to have a discussion, I reckon.”

She steps back, hands on hips, “Oh, you reckon, do you? Well, thanks for that. See you ‘round.” She turns and heads for the door.

He calls after her, “Good luck, Sarge, I hope you get through to him but he’s been alone a long time, he might need some convincin’.”

She barely pauses on her way out, just throws a challenging look over her shoulder, and then she’s gone.

“Yeah,” Dwayne whispers, “he might need all kindsa convincin’. I also reckon you got bags of it.” He nods slowly, “FRENCH convincin’. Oh, Chief, I hope you’re up to it.”

She finds her quarry exactly where Dwayne said he’d be, just a slightly darker blot in the deep shade. She clears her throat to alert him then quickly slides down to sit beside him. When he doesn’t say anything, when he twists his shoulders away, she comes to her decision with surprising ease. She slips the wrapped item into his slack hands. He stares down at it then shudders and tries to hand it back.

She folds her arms and shakes her head, “No, I’ve decided. It’s for you and no one else.” He groans and rustles it out into the dim light, letting the paper fall to the ground. He just stares at it. “Well?” she prompts, “aren’t you going to say anything?”

He looks away, “What’s to say? Your man obviously didn’t want it and now you choose to mock me.”

She blurts angrily, “There IS no other man! I did all this for YOU right from the beginning. I just couldn’t make up my mind whether to give it to you or not because I don’t know how you feel about me!”

His voice sounds dead, “You don’t? You? The great body-english-speed-reader? I find that hard to believe.” He holds it out to her, “So, here, joke’s over. We both know I could never aspire to attracting someone like you. Talk about chalk and cheese… or, in this case, rose and nettle.”

She blinks, “What? What and what?”

He nods, “Rose, that’s you, perfect and lovely, wanted by all. Nettle, that’s me, a spiky weed to be dug out of every garden it tries to hide in. I’m under no illusion, Camille, I know how despised I am. I’ve had to accept it my whole life. So let’s just pretend this whole farce never happened and go back to like it was before. I can almost manage to accept my lot and with a few more years practice it should stop hurting all together. I don’t blame you for wanting to have a little fun at my expense. Just… let’s stop now, OK? I’m tired and I’m sad and I don’t have the strength to keep up my end of the jest.”

A single tear runs down her shocked face but he doesn’t see it. He’s looking down at the photo like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen… but it isn’t for him, it will never be for him. She looks down at his hand, reaches out, curls her fingers around his and whispers, “Do you see my mouth? The photographer asked me to whisper something sexy and do you know the only word I could think of?”

He looks up at her, perplexed. She smiles small and leans in to whisper, “Reeeee-charrrrrrr. That’s YOUR name on my lips there in the photo. And…” she slips her hand up his trembling arm, “… that’s the name I want to whisper right now. But only if you want me to say it. Only if you want to hear it. Do you? Want to hear it?” She leans in closer, brushing his ear with those lips and the words escape like the soft coo of a dove, “The name of the only ‘thing in pants’ I want, now and forever, Reeeeee-…”

His kiss is jolting, awkward, crooked, almost like he’s tripped and fallen and trying to save himself. She deftly shifts into ideal alignment with him and deepens the kiss, catching him and rescuing him all in one motion. The photo in its cardboard frame plaps to the ground at his feet. Her arms go around him and he responds with a crushing embrace as they rock together in perfect harmony and she achieves her ultimate goal in the blink of an eye - the capture of Richard Poole – right on time – unbelievably - finally - and at last.  
END – part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But... as the K-Tel man used to chuckle... 'Wait! There's more."


	27. Picture Perfect - part 6 of 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I am NOT a photographer - so take a big dose of 'suspended belief' and read on.

Part 6 of 6  
Porsche is closing up. God, what a week! There had been so many women in and out of the shop that she’d lost count. Everyone happy. Everyone excited. It had been great fun but she’s glad today is over. Just as she’s locking the till, the front door dings and she frowns.

“I’m closed!” she calls out and is surprised as rapid footfalls bring a slender shadow down the centre aisle. “Hey! I’m…” She hushes as Camille Bordey, her golden goose, rushes up with a finger to her lips.

“Shhh, I heard you,” Camille whispers, “and I know it’s kinda late but… well… um… can you do one last shoot, please? Pretty please? It took me hours of, um, persuasion to convince him and if he’s run off while my back was turned then I guess there’s no problem, is there?”

Porsche puzzles through this then sighs with resignation, “Let me guess, your fella liked his gift and now he has to return the favour, right?” At Camille’s raised eyebrows, Porsche laughs, “What?! You don’t think I haven’t had all kinds of calls from men over this? I’m booking into next week. Can’t your man make an appointment like everyone else? I’m really tired.”

Camille finds this very amusing, “Him? An appointment? During the day when anyone could see him coming in here? Not on your life! It has to be now. Please say you’ll do it? I’ll never get him to come here again if you don’t do it right now. You owe me! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!”

Porsche groans, glances at her watch, “Oh, OK, but we have to make it quick. I’ve got dinner plans.”

Camille claps her hands and squeals with glee, runs back to the front door, peeks out, then steps out onto the deserted street, looking left then right then left again. “He’s GONE! Oh, I am so absolutely going to kill that MAN!” Just as she lifts a fist to the sky, something catches her attention and she glances to her right, “What? You’re where?” She listens for a moment then says, “Well, come out of there and get inside before someone sees you.” She listens some more, her hands going to her hips, “What? Well, that’s just plain silly! I can’t…” She stills then comes back inside looking a trifle sheepish, “Look, Porsche, he’s a bit shy and all. Can you maybe just turn your back while I hustle him into the back room? Just humour me here otherwise he’s going to do a runner.”

Porsche stares at the apologetic young woman for a long moment then shrugs and turns her back. She hears Camille go back to the front door, hears movement and rustling, then quick steps coming inside. The front door lock clicks and she hears her ‘Closed/Fermé’ sign get flipped. Half way down the aisle, the footsteps falter. She hears whispering. 

Then Camille speaks up again in a laughing voice, “Um, sorry, but could you cover your eyes?”

Porsche does so, chuckling to herself, as her elusive model makes his way past her and into the studio. Once she’s sure he’s inside, Porsche drops her hands and approaches the curtained doorway only to be met by a resolute Camille. 

“Sorry, you can’t come in yet,” Camille says, “not until we’re ready.”

Porsche is taken aback, “What? Well, how am I to position him and light him properly if I can’t come in? This portrait isn’t going to take itself, you know. God, how shy can a man be?”

Camille smirks, “You have no idea - and this isn’t him talking, it’s me. No one gets to see him but me.” She holds up a no-nonsense hand and Porsche’s objections die aborning. “We’ll set up and measure the distance to the, ah, point of interest. He’s very adept at many things and he happens to own a light-meter. So, you sit here while we work. Then he’ll, um, get himself ready in the change room while you come in and set up the equipment. Once that’s done, we can get on with it, OK?”

Porsche drops into a chair, her head in her hands, “Oh, all right, but hurry, will you? I’m starved and my supper is calling.” She rubs her tired feet as she waits. Within 10 minutes Camille is back but now she’s wearing a silk robe. Porsche sits up from a near doze, “What’s this?”

Camille smiles demurely, “Oh, didn’t I mention? This is a couple’s portrait. His idea, not mine, believe it or not.” She shakes her head, “I’m still having trouble believing it… but there you go. Men! Who can understand them? First they won’t, then they WILL, then they go wild!”

Standing, Porsche rather doesn’t believe any of it. Nevertheless, she enters the studio, sees the little post-it note stuck to a tripod in front of her most popular backdrop. She looks at it for a moment then says to Camille, “Um, that’s a little high, isn’t it? Most men prefer to lounge on the settee or…”

Camille actually blushes, “Oh! No, no, no, the focus is on his eyes, not his… um…”

Porsche is adjusting her equipment, wanting to get it over with, “Oh, I see. Well, I must say, no one’s asked me for THAT yet. Normally a man’s eyes aren’t his best romantic feature.” She hears Camille make an odd little sound, somewhat like a whimper and a growl combined, and turns.

Camille is standing with her eyes closed and hands clasped, looking almost to be in prayer. Then she opens her eyes and gives Porsche a most thrilling look, “Oh, Mrs. Pholeo, pardon me but you don’t know WHAT you’re talking about. Now, are you all set?”

Porsche checks everything then nods and turns to the camera but is once again stopped and is astounded to see the young woman hold up a blindfold. At Porsche’s mystified look, Camille murmurs, “My idea, not his. Sorry.” Porsche is too surprised to demur as the blindfold is affixed and she is left to feel her way by braille.

She might not be able to see anything… and somehow she REALLY wishes she could… but she hears just fine. She hears Camille pad over to the change room and the curtain rattles on its hooks. She hears muted discussion, low masculine hesitation and reticence coupled with quiet feminine laughter. There is much rustling and swishing then silence. Finally, Camille’s voice calls out softly, “OK, we’re in position. Take your shots, give us a minute to switch then take another round of shots. I’ll come get the memory card after you’re done so don’t remove the blindfold until I do it for you, OK?”

Porsche wants to argue. She hadn’t counted on losing control of her memory card. She really wants to see what she’s working with here but it seems the police-woman has thought of everything. Or one of them has. Either way, she’s hungry and tired, time to finish this. “OK,” she calls and they go through the steps just as Camille has outlined. Only once does the routine go slightly off-rail as a man’s laugh rumbles out and there is much muted murmuring before Camille gives Porsche the go-ahead for the second round of shots. Once done, Porsche stands patiently, head down, as Camille dons her robe and comes to take the blindfold off but only after the man is safety tucked away back into the change room. 

“There,” Camille smiles, “easy. I’ll return your card tomorrow. Thank you for understanding.” She takes Porsche’s elbow and steers her back out into the shop.

Porsche is just about to ask about the man when she hears the back door onto the alley open and close. _So, he’s gone then. What a strange interlude. Why all the secrecy? After all, the man isn’t married. In fact, most people believed him incapable of actual romantic feelings. How odd this whole situation is._

The next day  
Porsche tucks the returned memory card into a secure spot and waits until closing to slip it into her camera to check on something she’d Googled long and hard the night before. Following the arcane instructions she’d gotten off The Dark Web, she goggles at the resultant hazy images with amazement.

There is a nude couple standing against her black velvet background. 

The first pose has the man standing in front of the woman, his back to the camera, his arms around her waist as she peers from around his bicep directly at the viewer in gloating gleeful delight while he looks down at her in profile, a very satisfied smile on his lips. The spotlight hits his eyes in glowing perfection.

The second pose has the couple reversed, the man standing behind the woman who now has her back to the viewer. Her arms are around his shoulders, her head resting against his chest as if once again in silent prayer. But it is the man’s eyes staring out from over her tousled mane that catches the attention; his fierce possessive lambent eyes. They promise death and destruction to anyone or anything that dares impose upon this woman. They promise something completely different to the woman herself. It’s a complicated look, one that needs much introspection. If a person has the time. AND the photo.

Porsche fans herself and belatedly checks on other aspects of the shots. She sighs. Both poses have a hand demurely draped strategically by the person behind so as to not occlude any curves of the person in front but maintaining as much decorum as possible under the circumstances. She’s never seen such a wealth of swells and dips and smooth velvety skin. She peers closer and smiles. Oh, and dimples.

She thinks for a few seconds then removes the card and locks it away in her desk in an envelope. The last thing she needs is the top cops in this corner of the Caribbean on her case. Besides, she’s got a good memory. She’ll never be able to attend another town meeting without recalling that man out of his suit.

As she locks her front door and heads for home, she laughs. Now she knows what idea she will be selling for NEXT Valentine’s… for married couples. Why should the ‘singles’ have all the fun?

She laughs again as something else occurs to her. That Waiver and Terms of Agreement! Oh, yeah, people really ought to read things over before they sign. Next year, there could be a NEW poster gracing her window – one that is SURE to pull in the couples!

And liven up this sleepy little town drowsing in the sun.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure she won't do it. Well, 90% sure. At any rate, happy Valentine's everyone.  
> Also, if you'd like to see the photo that started all this, check out Sara Martins Twitter account, August 2016.


End file.
